Good Cop, Bad Cop, Chapter 4 and Afterword
Here we go! The last chapter of Good Cop, Bad Cop. This is where things start to get dark.
I've described things as accurately as possible in the final scene, though there's no way to know how accurate it really is. It's something that the Japanese don't like to talk about much, and they make every effort to keep it from the public eye. Even so, there's a surprising amount of material, including six pages of manga, on the subject, if you know where to look.
Enjoy!
4. Castigation
Light stared dully at the bowl of watery miso soup and the cup of tea that sat on the breakfast tray in front of him. It was the same breakfast that had appeared every day for the past six years. Neither one looked particularly appealing, but at least he was still alive to be disgusted. After six years on Death Row, Light supposed that his priorities had shifted at least a little bit.
Once, sometimes twice a year, the guards who patrolled the detention center after breakfast would stop in front of a cell and take its inmate away to be executed. By coincidence, an execution had taken place shortly after Light had been sentenced and transferred to this detention center. The prisoner had started screaming as soon as the guards had stopped in front of his door, and he had continued to scream even as he was taken away. Light had never admitted to anyone, not even Ryuk, how much those screams had frightened him. The next morning, he had eaten all of his breakfast with great relish out of sheer joy at still being alive. That had been the last time that he had truly enjoyed eating.
“Hey, Light,” Ryuk said, from his perch on the sink, “it’s not going to change into anything else. You going to eat it, or what?”
Light scowled at Ryuk, and drank the lukewarm tea in one long swallow. He set the cup back on the tray just as the guards entered the cell block to collect the remains of breakfast. The window in Light’s cell opened, and a gloved hand reached in to take the tray. Then the window shut, and Light and Ryuk were alone in the cell. They waited until the guards had removed the trays, then sat silently through the morning patrol, as all the prisoners did. The footsteps did not stop, and Light allowed himself to relax. There would be no execution today.
Once the morning rituals had concluded, there was nothing left to do. Light picked up a novel, flipped through a few pages absently, then set it down. Because of the nature of his crime, he was not permitted any books from outside, and could only select reading material from the warden’s library. Unfortunately, the warden’s taste ran to cheap, badly written romances, and not even the boredom of Death Row could pique Light’s interest in those stories.
At least he had Ryuk, a piece of fortune that surprised him, but that he did not question. Ryuk spent most of his time complaining or talking about apples, but he did provide another voice and a conversation partner. Light had heard other prisoners slowly going insane from the stress and isolation, and he was grateful even for the dubious relief of having a shinigami at his side.
“Why are you still here?” he asked Ryuk. “More to the point, why am I still here? You said that you would write my name in the notebook one day. Why haven’t you done it yet?”
Ryuk cackled. “That’s a good question. I ask it myself sometimes. Life is so dull here.”
“Well? Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“I don’t know. You’re still appealing your case, aren’t you? Maybe they’ll let you go.”
Now it was Light’s turn to give a snort of mirthless laughter. “I wouldn’t bet on it. They won’t overturn Kira’s sentence. Mother is wasting her money on that lawyer she hired.”
Ryuk shrugged. “Well, maybe I’m just sticking around to see your execution. I’ve never seen how they do that. Might be interesting. It’s been pretty interesting keeping up with your trial and everything after that, anyway.”
That last comment made Light angry enough that he picked up the novel and ostentatiously buried his nose in it. He did not like to remember his trial, which had been swift and merciless, nor the aftermath, which had included his father’s suicide the day after Light had been sentenced to death. He had only learned of the event after the fact, when his mother had written a shaky, tear-blurred letter that had described how Chief Yagami had tendered his resignation from the NPA, gone home, written his will, and hanged himself with his necktie.
Yagami’s suicide had been sensationalized in the press with headlines calling him Kira’s final victim, and Sayu had been teased so much that their mother had taken her out of school. Light had been surprised at how much this news had shaken him, and he had been further horrified when his mother insisted on spending the family’s savings on a new lawyer to appeal Light’s case. The lawyer had not had any success thus far, but continued to appeal, condemning Light to years of waiting in isolation for a death that could come at any moment.
Shortly after lunch, which Light did not eat, a guard stopped in front of his cell. “You have a visitor, Yagami,” he said.
Light stood up on shaky legs, and allowed the guard to cuff his hands behind his back. A second guard joined them, and the little party marched down the corridor to the visiting room, where Light’s mother waited for him
Light guessed that it must be early September. His mother did not visit often, but when she did, it was usually in early September or early January. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw her son. Light sat awkwardly in one of the folding chairs in the visitation room, and the guards took up their posts at the door.
“Light,” his mother said. “It’s so good to see you. Are you holding up well? You look thin.”
Light shrugged. “The food here isn’t your cooking.” He did not mention how frail his mother had become. At least he had bad prison food as an excuse.
“I’ve found a tutor for Sayu,” his mother said. “She might be able to sit her university entrance exams this year. Perhaps I can send her off to university abroad. I’ve looked into universities in America with ties to Japan - there’s one called Amherst that seems small enough and private enough. She could start over there . . . oh, but I’m babbling. I have news for you.”
“If this is about my appeals -“
“It is. Oh, Light, our lawyer has managed to get the high court to hear your case. We might even be able to get a retrial with a jury, since they’re legal now. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Light suppressed a groan. A jury of his peers was the last thing Kira needed. “Brilliant. How will you manage to send Sayu off to this Amway place if you’ve spent all your money on these endless appeals?”
“I’ll manage somehow.” Light’s mother made a brave little smile for her son. “I have to admit, I’m terribly nervous. It’s the last appeal, and I’ve heard that the government has put a new prosecutor on the case. I think his name is Mikami; he’s supposed to be very young, but very good. Oh, Light, I hope we won’t lose this one, too. . . “ She began to cry, and one of the guards helped her to stand and ushered her out of the door. After she was gone, the guards returned Light to his cell.
So the months passed by. Light heard nothing about the progress of his final appeal, but it did not take an intellect of his caliber to guess what the outcome would be. The only question was when it would fail.
Sometimes Light wondered whether Misa was still alive. She had also drawn the death penalty, and had enjoyed a few days’ worth of media attention for being young, pretty, female, and doomed to die. Light was fairly sure that she was not being held in the same detention center as he was. He guessed that she was probably in a facility designed to accommodate female prisoners. Her model’s looks had probably faded by now, and she had probably gone mad from the isolation and lack of human contact. He couldn’t rouse himself to feel much sympathy for her, since Rem was presumably still around protecting her as much as possible.
Winter came, and the cell grew chilly. Light spent most of his time wrapped in a blanket, occasionally doing jumping jacks when he thought that the guards would not catch him at it. The food remained bad, and the selection of novels from the warden’s library remained boring. Even Ryuk’s sniping began to lose its charm.
Even so, Light was surprised at the sudden surge of relief he felt when the guards’ footsteps stopped outside his cell after breakfast one morning. The day of his death had arrived, and even if he never saw another day, at least he could end his life with a break from the eternal routine of the detention center.
“Yagami!” the guard said. “Your time has come.”
For a moment, Light stood frozen in disbelief. It was actually happening. Six years after he had inflicted death on so many people, he was now about to experience it for himself. His stomach gave a nervous flutter, and he was suddenly glad that he had not drunk the miso soup this morning.
The guard tapped his foot impatiently. “Tidy your cell, and be quick about it.”
Light complied, straightening his bedding and setting his last romance novel on the end of the bed for a guard to collect . . . afterwards. Ryuk hung from the ceiling and cackled with glee. Of course. He had claimed from the beginning that he was not Light’s friend, and would eventually see him die.
“You’re finally getting your wish, aren’t you, Ryuk?” Light muttered. Ryuk ignored him.
“Yagami! No chatter.” The guard gave the cell a brief inspection, then motioned to his partner. The two of them took Light’s arms and walked him out of the cell and down the corridor. Ryuk floated just behind them, invisible to everyone but Light. Light glanced at the other cell doors and imagined the prisoners behind them, pathetically grateful that they were not the ones selected to die today, that they had been granted yet another day of meaningless existence.
Before he could stop it, a peal of hysterical laughter bubbled out of him. “Fools!” he yelled, enjoying the sensation of yelling after so many years of near-silence. “Fools! You’re all pathetic fools, withering away in your cells. I lived! I was Kira, I would have been the god of the new world! I was the master of death!”
“Yagami!” The guard’s stinging slap stunned Light into silence. “Be quiet. Don’t disturb the other prisoners.”
They left the detention area and walked through a series of long, featureless corridors. At last, they came to a long staircase with a single door at the top. There was only one place that this staircase could lead. Light’s legs had grown weak after six years in confinement, and he had to lean heavily on the guards in order to ascend the stairs.
He was led into a small antechamber with a curtain separating it from what had to be the larger execution chamber. The antechamber contained a desk and a chair, and a small man in a robe with a face like bean paste stood nearby.
“Do you wish a moment of prayer?” the man asked. Light stared at him blankly and shook his head. He had never cared much for any faith, and he could not imagine asking a favor of a god, he who had come so close to becoming a god himself. The priest withdrew behind the curtain.
The head guard indicated that Light was to sit at the desk. “You can write a final letter if you so desire,” he said.
Light’s head snapped up at that. He could not believe his luck. Here, at the brink of death, he had one last chance to live, to pass judgment on the world that had dared to judge him. He glanced around and spotted Ryuk hovering nearby. Ryuk had the notebook; Light was sure of it. All he had to do was summon the strength to leap up and grab it. The element of surprise would be on his side. Neither the guards nor Ryuk would be expecting this.
But just as Light tensed his muscles in preparation for his leap, the guard’s heavy hand descended on his shoulder. “We know about you, Yagami,” he said. “You will use paper and a pencil that we provide.”
He set a sheet of foolscap and a pencil down on the desk in front of Light. Light could not suppress a sigh. Ryuk snickered.
Light stared at the paper, unsure of what he might want to say or to whom he could say it. He would have written to his father, but his father was dead. There was no point in writing to Misa, for even if she was alive, she would not be allowed to receive a communication from her former partner in crime. He could not imagine writing to any of his old schoolmates. And, to his mild surprise, Light realized that he had nothing in particular to say to his mother or Sayu. Possibly he had never had anything to say to them.
Just as he began to fear that his time for writing was up, an idea struck him. There was one person with whom Light still had unfinished business. He picked up the pencil and began to scribble a note.
Today I die, the executioner known as Kira and the man called Light Yagami. The victory is yours. But your victory is imperfect. You didn’t win; I lost. Your detective skills contributed nothing to the solution. The mistake was mine, and therefore, the victory cannot be to your credit. Remember Kira the next time that the police ask for your help on a case. You’re not invincible. You never were.
Light Yagami
Light’s hands shook a little as he folded the note and handed it to the guard. “This is for the detective known as L,” he said. “You can give it to Detective Aizawa of the NPA; he’ll know how to get in touch with L.”
The guard nodded gravely, almost as if he were a servant taking orders from a master, and tucked the letter away in his pocket.
“Do you wish to write a will?” he asked.
Light shook his head. He had no possessions or property worth the disposal. His mother and Sayu had probably sold his clothes and his computer in order to pay for his lawyer, and Light owned nothing else.
“Rise, Yagami,” the guard said.
With a last glance at Ryuk’s eternal, meaningless grin, Light rose to his feet. One guard laid hands upon him, and another produced a simple white cotton blindfold.
At the sight of the blindfold, something shattered inside Light. The realization crashed down on him that this dingy room with its cheap furniture was the last thing that he would ever see. He would never look on the execution chamber, never see the noose that he knew was waiting for him, or be able to look into the eyes of his executioners as they pressed the buttons to release the trapdoor beneath his feet. The drab monotony of his cell, with its endless succession of bad romance novels and worse food, suddenly seemed like a paradise, and Light wanted nothing more than to be allowed to return to it. He wouldn’t even ask for release, he would be content with his cell, if only -
“No!” he cried, his voice cracking with the stress of the moment. “No, not the blindfold! Don’t come near me with that! I want to see, I want to see, please don’t take my eyes away!”
Sheer animal terror gave Light the strength to twist and squirm and fight the guards, who tried to wrestle his arms behind his back for the handcuffs.
“Fools! Idiots! You can’t kill me like this!” he screamed. “You’re . . . you’re worse than Kira! Kira was swift, he was merciful, they never felt a thing, he didn’t blindfold them!”
The blindfold neared his face again, and Light twisted his head away, his panicked gaze falling on Ryuk. “Ryuk, help me! Stop them and give me back the notebook! I promise, I can show you even more interesting things to do with it, just make them let me go!”
Ryuk chuckled. “Heh. Sorry, Light. You’re on your own. All humans must die, and your time has come. But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll go into the room with you.”
Bleak as it was, the offer provided some small comfort, and Light stopped struggling. The handcuffs clamped around his wrists, cold and sharp, and then the blindfold came, the soft, cool cotton against his face shutting his eyes and bringing darkness.
Firm, businesslike hands turned Light around, and he heard the gentle swish of a curtain being pulled aside. The hands led him forward, and his feet shook as he put one in front of the other, moving across a strange floor that he could not see.
The walk was not very far at all, and when they stopped, Light could feel the slight air currents of a somewhat larger room than he had been in before. Two of the guards held him still, while another knelt down to bind his legs together. A voice started to chant, and Light remembered the priest he had sent away.
“Ryuk?” he asked quietly. “Are you still there?”
After a moment, he heard the rustle of wings, a sound that shinigami did not always make. “Right here, Light,” the raspy voice said. “I’ve got the Death Note open now, and I’m getting my pen.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Too bad, kid. You should have thought of that before you picked up my notebook. I told you that I’d write your name in it one day.”
The guard finished tying his feet, and Light shifted his weight a little to find his balance. The hands on his shoulders shifted, and something scratchy brushed his face. With a sudden thrill of horror, he realized that it was the noose. The rope passed over his chin and settled around his neck. One of the guards adjusted it with a jerk, pulling it tight so that the knot lay heavy against Light’s ear. Then the hands went away, and Light was alone, only the noose around his neck connecting him to the world.
Voices came faintly to Light’s ears, and he thought that there must be a partition somewhere in the room. Perhaps the executioners were conferring behind a window. The priest began to chant again, and then Light jumped as he heard the scratching of a pen. Ryuk’s voice came low and menacing in his ear.
“It’s been fun, Light. I learned things from you, which is more than shinigami usually get from humans. But everything comes to an end. Want to know what I’ve written? Light Yagami -“
The priest stopped chanting, and footsteps creaked away from Light.
“ - December 25, 2012 -“
Light’s heart pounded so hard that he could barely hear Ryuk.
“ - at 0853 -“
Light locked his knees so that he would not collapse in front of the guards and Ryuk.
“ - executed by the Japanese government for the crime of serial murder under the name of Kira!”
There was a loud thump, and a fraction of a second of weightlessness, and Light had time only for a choked half-gasp as the trapdoor opened under
END
Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Special thanks to valmora, who urged me to write it in the first place, and provided valuable research tips.
I've described things as accurately as possible in the final scene, though there's no way to know how accurate it really is. It's something that the Japanese don't like to talk about much, and they make every effort to keep it from the public eye. Even so, there's a surprising amount of material, including six pages of manga, on the subject, if you know where to look.
Enjoy!
4. Castigation
Light stared dully at the bowl of watery miso soup and the cup of tea that sat on the breakfast tray in front of him. It was the same breakfast that had appeared every day for the past six years. Neither one looked particularly appealing, but at least he was still alive to be disgusted. After six years on Death Row, Light supposed that his priorities had shifted at least a little bit.
Once, sometimes twice a year, the guards who patrolled the detention center after breakfast would stop in front of a cell and take its inmate away to be executed. By coincidence, an execution had taken place shortly after Light had been sentenced and transferred to this detention center. The prisoner had started screaming as soon as the guards had stopped in front of his door, and he had continued to scream even as he was taken away. Light had never admitted to anyone, not even Ryuk, how much those screams had frightened him. The next morning, he had eaten all of his breakfast with great relish out of sheer joy at still being alive. That had been the last time that he had truly enjoyed eating.
“Hey, Light,” Ryuk said, from his perch on the sink, “it’s not going to change into anything else. You going to eat it, or what?”
Light scowled at Ryuk, and drank the lukewarm tea in one long swallow. He set the cup back on the tray just as the guards entered the cell block to collect the remains of breakfast. The window in Light’s cell opened, and a gloved hand reached in to take the tray. Then the window shut, and Light and Ryuk were alone in the cell. They waited until the guards had removed the trays, then sat silently through the morning patrol, as all the prisoners did. The footsteps did not stop, and Light allowed himself to relax. There would be no execution today.
Once the morning rituals had concluded, there was nothing left to do. Light picked up a novel, flipped through a few pages absently, then set it down. Because of the nature of his crime, he was not permitted any books from outside, and could only select reading material from the warden’s library. Unfortunately, the warden’s taste ran to cheap, badly written romances, and not even the boredom of Death Row could pique Light’s interest in those stories.
At least he had Ryuk, a piece of fortune that surprised him, but that he did not question. Ryuk spent most of his time complaining or talking about apples, but he did provide another voice and a conversation partner. Light had heard other prisoners slowly going insane from the stress and isolation, and he was grateful even for the dubious relief of having a shinigami at his side.
“Why are you still here?” he asked Ryuk. “More to the point, why am I still here? You said that you would write my name in the notebook one day. Why haven’t you done it yet?”
Ryuk cackled. “That’s a good question. I ask it myself sometimes. Life is so dull here.”
“Well? Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
“I don’t know. You’re still appealing your case, aren’t you? Maybe they’ll let you go.”
Now it was Light’s turn to give a snort of mirthless laughter. “I wouldn’t bet on it. They won’t overturn Kira’s sentence. Mother is wasting her money on that lawyer she hired.”
Ryuk shrugged. “Well, maybe I’m just sticking around to see your execution. I’ve never seen how they do that. Might be interesting. It’s been pretty interesting keeping up with your trial and everything after that, anyway.”
That last comment made Light angry enough that he picked up the novel and ostentatiously buried his nose in it. He did not like to remember his trial, which had been swift and merciless, nor the aftermath, which had included his father’s suicide the day after Light had been sentenced to death. He had only learned of the event after the fact, when his mother had written a shaky, tear-blurred letter that had described how Chief Yagami had tendered his resignation from the NPA, gone home, written his will, and hanged himself with his necktie.
Yagami’s suicide had been sensationalized in the press with headlines calling him Kira’s final victim, and Sayu had been teased so much that their mother had taken her out of school. Light had been surprised at how much this news had shaken him, and he had been further horrified when his mother insisted on spending the family’s savings on a new lawyer to appeal Light’s case. The lawyer had not had any success thus far, but continued to appeal, condemning Light to years of waiting in isolation for a death that could come at any moment.
Shortly after lunch, which Light did not eat, a guard stopped in front of his cell. “You have a visitor, Yagami,” he said.
Light stood up on shaky legs, and allowed the guard to cuff his hands behind his back. A second guard joined them, and the little party marched down the corridor to the visiting room, where Light’s mother waited for him
Light guessed that it must be early September. His mother did not visit often, but when she did, it was usually in early September or early January. Her eyes filled with tears when she saw her son. Light sat awkwardly in one of the folding chairs in the visitation room, and the guards took up their posts at the door.
“Light,” his mother said. “It’s so good to see you. Are you holding up well? You look thin.”
Light shrugged. “The food here isn’t your cooking.” He did not mention how frail his mother had become. At least he had bad prison food as an excuse.
“I’ve found a tutor for Sayu,” his mother said. “She might be able to sit her university entrance exams this year. Perhaps I can send her off to university abroad. I’ve looked into universities in America with ties to Japan - there’s one called Amherst that seems small enough and private enough. She could start over there . . . oh, but I’m babbling. I have news for you.”
“If this is about my appeals -“
“It is. Oh, Light, our lawyer has managed to get the high court to hear your case. We might even be able to get a retrial with a jury, since they’re legal now. Isn’t that wonderful?”
Light suppressed a groan. A jury of his peers was the last thing Kira needed. “Brilliant. How will you manage to send Sayu off to this Amway place if you’ve spent all your money on these endless appeals?”
“I’ll manage somehow.” Light’s mother made a brave little smile for her son. “I have to admit, I’m terribly nervous. It’s the last appeal, and I’ve heard that the government has put a new prosecutor on the case. I think his name is Mikami; he’s supposed to be very young, but very good. Oh, Light, I hope we won’t lose this one, too. . . “ She began to cry, and one of the guards helped her to stand and ushered her out of the door. After she was gone, the guards returned Light to his cell.
So the months passed by. Light heard nothing about the progress of his final appeal, but it did not take an intellect of his caliber to guess what the outcome would be. The only question was when it would fail.
Sometimes Light wondered whether Misa was still alive. She had also drawn the death penalty, and had enjoyed a few days’ worth of media attention for being young, pretty, female, and doomed to die. Light was fairly sure that she was not being held in the same detention center as he was. He guessed that she was probably in a facility designed to accommodate female prisoners. Her model’s looks had probably faded by now, and she had probably gone mad from the isolation and lack of human contact. He couldn’t rouse himself to feel much sympathy for her, since Rem was presumably still around protecting her as much as possible.
Winter came, and the cell grew chilly. Light spent most of his time wrapped in a blanket, occasionally doing jumping jacks when he thought that the guards would not catch him at it. The food remained bad, and the selection of novels from the warden’s library remained boring. Even Ryuk’s sniping began to lose its charm.
Even so, Light was surprised at the sudden surge of relief he felt when the guards’ footsteps stopped outside his cell after breakfast one morning. The day of his death had arrived, and even if he never saw another day, at least he could end his life with a break from the eternal routine of the detention center.
“Yagami!” the guard said. “Your time has come.”
For a moment, Light stood frozen in disbelief. It was actually happening. Six years after he had inflicted death on so many people, he was now about to experience it for himself. His stomach gave a nervous flutter, and he was suddenly glad that he had not drunk the miso soup this morning.
The guard tapped his foot impatiently. “Tidy your cell, and be quick about it.”
Light complied, straightening his bedding and setting his last romance novel on the end of the bed for a guard to collect . . . afterwards. Ryuk hung from the ceiling and cackled with glee. Of course. He had claimed from the beginning that he was not Light’s friend, and would eventually see him die.
“You’re finally getting your wish, aren’t you, Ryuk?” Light muttered. Ryuk ignored him.
“Yagami! No chatter.” The guard gave the cell a brief inspection, then motioned to his partner. The two of them took Light’s arms and walked him out of the cell and down the corridor. Ryuk floated just behind them, invisible to everyone but Light. Light glanced at the other cell doors and imagined the prisoners behind them, pathetically grateful that they were not the ones selected to die today, that they had been granted yet another day of meaningless existence.
Before he could stop it, a peal of hysterical laughter bubbled out of him. “Fools!” he yelled, enjoying the sensation of yelling after so many years of near-silence. “Fools! You’re all pathetic fools, withering away in your cells. I lived! I was Kira, I would have been the god of the new world! I was the master of death!”
“Yagami!” The guard’s stinging slap stunned Light into silence. “Be quiet. Don’t disturb the other prisoners.”
They left the detention area and walked through a series of long, featureless corridors. At last, they came to a long staircase with a single door at the top. There was only one place that this staircase could lead. Light’s legs had grown weak after six years in confinement, and he had to lean heavily on the guards in order to ascend the stairs.
He was led into a small antechamber with a curtain separating it from what had to be the larger execution chamber. The antechamber contained a desk and a chair, and a small man in a robe with a face like bean paste stood nearby.
“Do you wish a moment of prayer?” the man asked. Light stared at him blankly and shook his head. He had never cared much for any faith, and he could not imagine asking a favor of a god, he who had come so close to becoming a god himself. The priest withdrew behind the curtain.
The head guard indicated that Light was to sit at the desk. “You can write a final letter if you so desire,” he said.
Light’s head snapped up at that. He could not believe his luck. Here, at the brink of death, he had one last chance to live, to pass judgment on the world that had dared to judge him. He glanced around and spotted Ryuk hovering nearby. Ryuk had the notebook; Light was sure of it. All he had to do was summon the strength to leap up and grab it. The element of surprise would be on his side. Neither the guards nor Ryuk would be expecting this.
But just as Light tensed his muscles in preparation for his leap, the guard’s heavy hand descended on his shoulder. “We know about you, Yagami,” he said. “You will use paper and a pencil that we provide.”
He set a sheet of foolscap and a pencil down on the desk in front of Light. Light could not suppress a sigh. Ryuk snickered.
Light stared at the paper, unsure of what he might want to say or to whom he could say it. He would have written to his father, but his father was dead. There was no point in writing to Misa, for even if she was alive, she would not be allowed to receive a communication from her former partner in crime. He could not imagine writing to any of his old schoolmates. And, to his mild surprise, Light realized that he had nothing in particular to say to his mother or Sayu. Possibly he had never had anything to say to them.
Just as he began to fear that his time for writing was up, an idea struck him. There was one person with whom Light still had unfinished business. He picked up the pencil and began to scribble a note.
Today I die, the executioner known as Kira and the man called Light Yagami. The victory is yours. But your victory is imperfect. You didn’t win; I lost. Your detective skills contributed nothing to the solution. The mistake was mine, and therefore, the victory cannot be to your credit. Remember Kira the next time that the police ask for your help on a case. You’re not invincible. You never were.
Light Yagami
Light’s hands shook a little as he folded the note and handed it to the guard. “This is for the detective known as L,” he said. “You can give it to Detective Aizawa of the NPA; he’ll know how to get in touch with L.”
The guard nodded gravely, almost as if he were a servant taking orders from a master, and tucked the letter away in his pocket.
“Do you wish to write a will?” he asked.
Light shook his head. He had no possessions or property worth the disposal. His mother and Sayu had probably sold his clothes and his computer in order to pay for his lawyer, and Light owned nothing else.
“Rise, Yagami,” the guard said.
With a last glance at Ryuk’s eternal, meaningless grin, Light rose to his feet. One guard laid hands upon him, and another produced a simple white cotton blindfold.
At the sight of the blindfold, something shattered inside Light. The realization crashed down on him that this dingy room with its cheap furniture was the last thing that he would ever see. He would never look on the execution chamber, never see the noose that he knew was waiting for him, or be able to look into the eyes of his executioners as they pressed the buttons to release the trapdoor beneath his feet. The drab monotony of his cell, with its endless succession of bad romance novels and worse food, suddenly seemed like a paradise, and Light wanted nothing more than to be allowed to return to it. He wouldn’t even ask for release, he would be content with his cell, if only -
“No!” he cried, his voice cracking with the stress of the moment. “No, not the blindfold! Don’t come near me with that! I want to see, I want to see, please don’t take my eyes away!”
Sheer animal terror gave Light the strength to twist and squirm and fight the guards, who tried to wrestle his arms behind his back for the handcuffs.
“Fools! Idiots! You can’t kill me like this!” he screamed. “You’re . . . you’re worse than Kira! Kira was swift, he was merciful, they never felt a thing, he didn’t blindfold them!”
The blindfold neared his face again, and Light twisted his head away, his panicked gaze falling on Ryuk. “Ryuk, help me! Stop them and give me back the notebook! I promise, I can show you even more interesting things to do with it, just make them let me go!”
Ryuk chuckled. “Heh. Sorry, Light. You’re on your own. All humans must die, and your time has come. But, hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’ll go into the room with you.”
Bleak as it was, the offer provided some small comfort, and Light stopped struggling. The handcuffs clamped around his wrists, cold and sharp, and then the blindfold came, the soft, cool cotton against his face shutting his eyes and bringing darkness.
Firm, businesslike hands turned Light around, and he heard the gentle swish of a curtain being pulled aside. The hands led him forward, and his feet shook as he put one in front of the other, moving across a strange floor that he could not see.
The walk was not very far at all, and when they stopped, Light could feel the slight air currents of a somewhat larger room than he had been in before. Two of the guards held him still, while another knelt down to bind his legs together. A voice started to chant, and Light remembered the priest he had sent away.
“Ryuk?” he asked quietly. “Are you still there?”
After a moment, he heard the rustle of wings, a sound that shinigami did not always make. “Right here, Light,” the raspy voice said. “I’ve got the Death Note open now, and I’m getting my pen.”
“I don’t want to die.”
“Too bad, kid. You should have thought of that before you picked up my notebook. I told you that I’d write your name in it one day.”
The guard finished tying his feet, and Light shifted his weight a little to find his balance. The hands on his shoulders shifted, and something scratchy brushed his face. With a sudden thrill of horror, he realized that it was the noose. The rope passed over his chin and settled around his neck. One of the guards adjusted it with a jerk, pulling it tight so that the knot lay heavy against Light’s ear. Then the hands went away, and Light was alone, only the noose around his neck connecting him to the world.
Voices came faintly to Light’s ears, and he thought that there must be a partition somewhere in the room. Perhaps the executioners were conferring behind a window. The priest began to chant again, and then Light jumped as he heard the scratching of a pen. Ryuk’s voice came low and menacing in his ear.
“It’s been fun, Light. I learned things from you, which is more than shinigami usually get from humans. But everything comes to an end. Want to know what I’ve written? Light Yagami -“
The priest stopped chanting, and footsteps creaked away from Light.
“ - December 25, 2012 -“
Light’s heart pounded so hard that he could barely hear Ryuk.
“ - at 0853 -“
Light locked his knees so that he would not collapse in front of the guards and Ryuk.
“ - executed by the Japanese government for the crime of serial murder under the name of Kira!”
There was a loud thump, and a fraction of a second of weightlessness, and Light had time only for a choked half-gasp as the trapdoor opened under
END
Afterword: Many thanks to everyone who has read and enjoyed this story. Special thanks to valmora, who urged me to write it in the first place, and provided valuable research tips.