Mirror Dreams (Death Note, PG, Gen)
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Mirror Dreams
~ A Death Note Ficlet ~
mbsilvana@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Ooba and Obata.
Spoilers: I've read 0-16.
Notes: A "What If."
He could never remember his dreams, not clearly, but the fragments he could recall in those few seconds between waking and sleeping were enough to give anyone nightmares. Death, and people coming back to life. Murder, and being responsible. Dying... and being reborn. Knowing that for him, there would be no heaven or hell, but only death. Then those certainties would fade, and he would be left with nothing except the nagging certainty that one day, death would come for him, and it wouldn't be kind.
Most people considered him a bit morbid, a bit weird. He had been normal once, he recalled, while in junior high. He once had friends and enemies, and then something had... changed. But he couldn't remember what.
He tried not to let that bother him. He tried to live a normal life, but he couldn't help turning whenever he heard about death. It was a fascination - as much as he hated it, he knew that it always dogged his steps. Since that time... that point when his life had... changed, people around him had tended to end up dead.
It had hurt, when his mother had died when he was fifteen - and his father died six months later. They had spilt him and his siblings up, but that had been okay, because maybe his curse wouldn't carry over to them. Then his best friend died when he was seventeen, and he'd forgotten how to cry. He had became numb to death.
Maybe that was why he became a coroner. Many people seemed to be bothered by touching the dead, the old Shinto belief of contact with the dead bringing impurity still resonating on some level in the Japanese soul. He, though, had come to love the dead, because often times no one else would.
He was strange, he knew. But so was the rest of his family, twisted by the premature deaths of their parents. He supposed that being orphaned young would do that to anyone.
His gift at identify the hows and whys of death had vaulted him into a national position at twenty-six. He was able to almost see what had happened in those last few moments, and often times his insights would lead investigators to murderers or absolve others of blame in what were accidents or natural deaths.
He had never been wrong.
When the string of deaths began in the jails, as notorious criminals began to die one by one, something about the style resonated on a deep level. Even though he’d been on vacation - his first in two years - he’d made arrangements with the police to have a look at one of the bodies.
The body was of a thirty-six year old child molester, Mikado Eiri. The man had died nearly two days before, and rigor mortis had passed. He was unbothered as he stared at the already dissected form of the slightly-overweight man. His eyes, still bulging open, were cloudy, and the scent of death lingered in the morgue.
He pulled on plastic gloves, and whipped the sheet back, staring at the naked body of a man who had raped sixteen children. As his hand reached out to pull back a flap of skin, he brushed the corpse’s head...
And he knew.
This was not a natural death, no matter how the man had died. Yellow eyes, barely remembered, stared at him from his memory, and he knew that someone had sentenced this man to death. Someone... had managed to find a way to kill from afar.
He... he just knew, in the same way he had always known. He’d conducted his autopsy, having a hard time keeping his hands from shaking. The man had died from a heart attack, and he had to reluctantly concur with those findings in his official report.
However, there was one more thing he could do. In his apartment, late that night, Kagami Taro picked up the phone to call his brother.
"Ryuuzaki, you need to look into these prison deaths. There's something going on there."
Mirror Dreams
~ A Death Note Ficlet ~
mbsilvana@yahoo.com
Disclaimer: Ooba and Obata.
Spoilers: I've read 0-16.
Notes: A "What If."
He could never remember his dreams, not clearly, but the fragments he could recall in those few seconds between waking and sleeping were enough to give anyone nightmares. Death, and people coming back to life. Murder, and being responsible. Dying... and being reborn. Knowing that for him, there would be no heaven or hell, but only death. Then those certainties would fade, and he would be left with nothing except the nagging certainty that one day, death would come for him, and it wouldn't be kind.
Most people considered him a bit morbid, a bit weird. He had been normal once, he recalled, while in junior high. He once had friends and enemies, and then something had... changed. But he couldn't remember what.
He tried not to let that bother him. He tried to live a normal life, but he couldn't help turning whenever he heard about death. It was a fascination - as much as he hated it, he knew that it always dogged his steps. Since that time... that point when his life had... changed, people around him had tended to end up dead.
It had hurt, when his mother had died when he was fifteen - and his father died six months later. They had spilt him and his siblings up, but that had been okay, because maybe his curse wouldn't carry over to them. Then his best friend died when he was seventeen, and he'd forgotten how to cry. He had became numb to death.
Maybe that was why he became a coroner. Many people seemed to be bothered by touching the dead, the old Shinto belief of contact with the dead bringing impurity still resonating on some level in the Japanese soul. He, though, had come to love the dead, because often times no one else would.
He was strange, he knew. But so was the rest of his family, twisted by the premature deaths of their parents. He supposed that being orphaned young would do that to anyone.
His gift at identify the hows and whys of death had vaulted him into a national position at twenty-six. He was able to almost see what had happened in those last few moments, and often times his insights would lead investigators to murderers or absolve others of blame in what were accidents or natural deaths.
He had never been wrong.
When the string of deaths began in the jails, as notorious criminals began to die one by one, something about the style resonated on a deep level. Even though he’d been on vacation - his first in two years - he’d made arrangements with the police to have a look at one of the bodies.
The body was of a thirty-six year old child molester, Mikado Eiri. The man had died nearly two days before, and rigor mortis had passed. He was unbothered as he stared at the already dissected form of the slightly-overweight man. His eyes, still bulging open, were cloudy, and the scent of death lingered in the morgue.
He pulled on plastic gloves, and whipped the sheet back, staring at the naked body of a man who had raped sixteen children. As his hand reached out to pull back a flap of skin, he brushed the corpse’s head...
And he knew.
This was not a natural death, no matter how the man had died. Yellow eyes, barely remembered, stared at him from his memory, and he knew that someone had sentenced this man to death. Someone... had managed to find a way to kill from afar.
He... he just knew, in the same way he had always known. He’d conducted his autopsy, having a hard time keeping his hands from shaking. The man had died from a heart attack, and he had to reluctantly concur with those findings in his official report.
However, there was one more thing he could do. In his apartment, late that night, Kagami Taro picked up the phone to call his brother.
"Ryuuzaki, you need to look into these prison deaths. There's something going on there."