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B looked nothing like L. That fact used to bring him utter disappointment every time he looked in the mirror. It started with dark circles under L’s eyes. Such an easy feature to obtain, as long as you’re thoroughly sleep-deprived. But no matter how many nights B spent awake, the circles never wanted to form. Then came the problem with L’s facial expressions. B’s mimicry might have been perfect if not for his own features getting in the way. He was painfully aware of each wrinkle that ruined his efforts. It would’ve been nice if their orphanage had a plastic surgeon.
After all, nobody at old days’ Wammy’s could afford the luxury of not being L. The guy was the embodiment of perfection to the poor kids. Most of all it applied to his potential successors. The best one at the time was A, an obedient little thing with looks disgustingly similar to L’s. He never aimed for anything beyond perfect grades. B was only the second best, but he knew better than to believe in academic excellence. Anyone with a brain could ace algebra or Chinese. To become L, it took a much more dedicated individual.
At some point B decided that if nature hadn’t granted him the right face, he’d make himself one. He sneaked some coal from the living room fireplace, returned to his bedroom, and carefully smeared it under his eyes. B only realized it wasn’t his best idea when tears went streaming down his cheeks. If anything, he ended up looking like a crying woman with a very bad mascara.
“Your eyes are so red,” Linda glanced at him suspiciously the same day at dinner.
B almost dropped his fork. He turned to Linda next to him, wondering if she could see the faint glint in his eyes. She met his stare and sighed like an old woman.
“Were you using eyeshadow?”
It wasn’t about the eyes that shimmered red instead of brown from time to time and saw two lines above each person’s head. B let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and shrugged.
“Coal.”
“What?!” The girl sure had some lungs. “And you’re supposed to be smart!”
Linda wasn’t dangerous as she was somewhere in the middle of the list. She had dark hair, close in colour to L’s, but put little effort into making the resemblance stronger. B thought kids like her, without top grades and right looks, would eventually become tools for future L. Linda was useful – she offered to teach B how to do his make-up. Apparently, many girls at Wammy’s were skilled in faking dark circles with eyeshadow.
It ended up looking way better than coal. Those were careful dark lines that lingered on B’s skin even after washing them off. He spent hours practicing with one of Linda’s old palettes. She also introduced him to powder and foundation. Finally, B looked just as pale as he needed to be. The layers of make-up on his skin were comforting in a way, as they led him closer to perfection.
As soon as B mastered the art of painting L’s face over his own, the sight of his actual face became unbearable. His features looked like cracks on L’s face and B hated it. Even A, with his naturally pale skin and sharp cheekbones, made him feel like a cheap copy. It gnawed at B’s mind like a swarm of maggots feeding on a corpse. He never took his make-up off completely, determined not to see the platitude he used to be. Every day, he would remove the eyeshadow from one eye, redo it, and only then move on to the other. Every night, he went to sleep with his make-up still on. His hard work brought him to the point where memories of B before L started to fade. Other kids and teachers forgot he was wearing make-up and often mistook him for L. B’s ego swelled: no other successor had ever received such recognition before. As for L, he definitely noticed the change but didn’t comment on it. B took it as a sign of approval.
Truth be told, their bodies were just as different as their faces. L could eat an entire table of sweets and ask for dessert. B wasn’t actually a fan of sugar, so he had to adapt his tastes as well. He settled for jam and made himself get used to it. Sometimes he threw up after not eating anything besides jam. Wammy often said he looked unwell but if L didn’t need to look healthy, neither did B. For B goes after L in everything.
When they met the world’s greatest detective for the first time, it was a huge shock to everyone, except B. He’d long since learnt not to expect anything. Surely the other kids imagined L as some modern version of Sherlock Holmes with a pipe and a funny hat. Real L looked just a couple years older than his freshly chosen successors, clearly suffered from scoliosis and was wearing a white sweatshirt with blue jeans.
“I’m L,” he said.
B’s eyes went up instinctively, a habit of many years. What he saw made him break into a wide grin.
L spent a lot of time with A and B as they were the most prominent candidates for his place. They could visit him almost any time. B remembered his room on the third floor, full of monitors and papers, how it always smelled chocolate or vanilla in there. He would come closer to L’s crouched form on the floor, sit beside him and observe his work quietly. If L asked, he would give him some opinions. Sometimes he was allowed to try and solve the case himself when L had already known the right answer. Still, it felt strangely wholesome to be trusted with something L’s.
“Your reasoning is even more radical than my own at times,” L once noticed.
“It’s necessary,” B answered without a single doubt. “L doesn’t make mistakes, so what’s a bit of radicalism on a greater scale? A shortcut to the evidence.”
That earned him an approving nod.
“A valid point.”
Being with L gave B an overwhelming sense of belonging. Here they were, two orphans with brains that worked like a perfect crime-solving machine. They were both destined for great things. L had his means to become the world’s greatest detective but what he didn’t have was time. From their very first meeting B knew that L would die young. His eyes didn’t lie and there was nothing anyone could do to prevent this from happening. B would have to save L’s legacy and become the new justice. He would even surpass L because, for all his logic, the detective didn’t know the secret of death. B never told him, even though L might be the only person worthy of the knowledge. He wouldn’t be scared – he’d probably find it useful for their work. B told himself that as soon as he was the only successor he would offer to become L’s eyes.
Keeping his position wasn’t hard. B knew how to be smart and cunning at the same time. If there was a potential rival, he could swap their test results or scare the idiot off. His manipulative tendencies were concerning the staff. Roger and the others even considered excluding him from the list. Had that happened, B probably wouldn’t become who he is. It doesn’t really matter anymore, since they thought his intelligence was more important. And, for once, they were right.
The pressure of being L’s successor didn’t scare him. He managed his looks and grades with equal determination. Sleepless nights spent studying, tons of black eyeshadow used and the adrenaline of constant competition wasn’t that big of a price for what he was about to achieve. And the others’ failures kept him entertained. He watched kids cry over their failed tests and fight for the lowest places. A, strangely not named Angel, tried to comfort them while B only ever laughed at the sight. Why bother making losers believe they’re not losers? So B let them cry, knowing every sob meant his victory.
All hell broke loose after A’s suicide. Neither his death, nor the lack of dignity in it came as a shock to B. He knew the boy wouldn’t live long. At first, A just started spending more time alone in his room. Soon he was cheating on tests. B often noticed his swollen eyes and trembling hands but didn’t say a word to the teachers. Even if they knew, it wouldn’t change anything. At least, B was generous enough to let A choose his own death.
Three days before his time was up, A came to B’s room and asked if they could talk. Curious, B let him in.
“You ever thought…” A shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “Like, is this the kind of life we should have? Being L?”
“Who’s ‘we’?” B sat on his bed with his back against the wall. “There can only be one L, dumbass.”
He never chose his words with A and wasn’t going to start. B saw death as a trivial matter. It didn’t make the boy in front of him any more special.
“We are L!” A cried out. “Me, you, the others… We are all L! No matter who takes his place, we’re practically the same. They made us dress like him, eat like him, think like him…”
“Your point is?” B cut him impatiently.
A opened and closed his mouth like a freshly caught fish. He looked down and started fidgeting with the hem of his sweatshirt.
“I saw a T-shirt yesterday,” he whispered. “It was in the shop window. It had an AC/DC logo on it. I thought maybe I could wear something like that… But then I remembered,” he looked up abruptly. “I can’t. I have to wear these damn white sweatshirts and blue jeans for the rest of my life just because it’s what L wears.”
“Damn it, A,” B’s mouth twitched in irritation. “You’re shitting my head over a T-shirt?”
“My name is Artemis!” A choked on his sob. “See? Even my name is not for me to choose! It’s all about being A and then becoming L. I didn’t choose it, I…”
His gaze wandered over B’s face, as if waiting for some sort of reaction. When none came, A rushed to continue.
“It’s not just me, it’s about you too. We didn’t choose it. We should be allowed to have our own personalities. Isn’t it cruel to deprive us of something so basic?”
“Basic is what you are without L,” B’s answer was flat. “And what you will remain if you don’t stop saying stupid shit.”
A looked like he’d just been slapped.
“I… I know it might sound strange after all these years, but… Don’t you want to… I don’t know, spend your time doing what you really want to do? Or eat something besides jam? I’ve seen you brace yourself before eating it, so…”
B’s lips tightened into a thin line. His gaze pierced A for a moment before shifting to his numbers. What a joke! A soon-to-be-dead loser came to poke at his weaknesses. B shot to his feet, every muscle tense.
“You’ve seen nothing,” he growled. “You’re just trying to pass your pitiful doubts onto me.”
He took a step closer to A, eyes never leaving his descending numbers. It was a beautiful sight.
“You’ve been given a chance to make something out of your poor orphan’s life. And now you’re saying you can’t handle it? The food’s too sweet, the shirt’s too soft? God, how much you’ve suffered!”
“You’re reading it all wrong!” A also jumped to his feet.
“Go ahead then,” B gestured to the door. “Fuck off and leave the first place to me. I can manage it just fine. They will send you to some government orphanage where you can be as basic as you want.”
“What?” A’s eyes widened in shock.
The idiot probably hadn’t considered leaving as an option. He thought he could cry his eyes out and change Wammy’s in a single day. It was so ridiculously naive that B couldn’t help smiling.
“Oh, did you think you could stay here, all mighty and yourself? What use will you be? You’re barely useful as you are.”
“I can’t… I…” A took a slow step back.
“You’re so damn weak,” B’s voice dripped with satisfaction. “Not worthy of becoming L, not worthy of even being at this place. Go on, tell everyone about your T-shirt problems. Let them laugh as well!”
A stormed out of his room. Three days later, he was found hanging from a pipe. B heard there had been a note about not being worthy or whatever. Perhaps it was his words that drove the boy to the rope. Or it might’ve been L’s, since A had gone to see him the day before he died. In the end, it didn’t matter who triggered the fate. What was supposed to happen happened.
Teachers, however, had a very different opinion. They ran around the orphanage with pale faces, while Roger didn’t seem to get off the phone. B saw pure horror in their eyes and laughed. They weren’t ready for the most obvious outcome!
An accident like this could’ve gotten any other orphanage shut down. But, of course, that wouldn’t have happened to Wammy’s. Watari was too respected and L too influential for anyone to press the issue. That could only mean one thing: A would be buried with all possible honors, then the genius-making machine would continue its work.
A’s funeral was the event of the season. The whole Wammy’s, kids and staff, gathered at the chapel on the estate’s territory. It was an old stone thing with a roof looking like a mushroom’s cap. Inside stood an open casket. The sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows didn’t warm the chapel one bit. A’s face looked blue in the coloured light. It suited him, in a dead sort of way.
B had to witness a swarm of crying children clinging to the casket. Some of the youngest reached for the deceased’s face, as if they could still wake him up. Teachers caught hold of their small hands and guided everyone back to their seats. A was a dear, yeah: a perfect student, a good friend. The staff barely managed to hold back their own emotions. There were so many tears that day, B could almost feel the salt on his skin. What were they all crying for? Poor dead A didn’t care about their weeping, but they cried anyway. Of course, they thought he could’ve been saved.
B made his way up to the casket to see what had been done to the body. Turned out death hadn’t been unkind to A. In B’s opinion, he looked more peaceful than he ever had in life. It was new, though, to see him dressed in a black suit and a high-collared white shirt. The morticians had done their best to hide the rope marks on his neck, along with the autopsy incision. B chuckled at the thought: A did get different clothes after all.
The goodbyes were taking forever. Just when B thought the play was about to end, he heard people at the back shuffling. A moment later, he noticed L, who seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. He carried a bunch of white lilies in his hands. B noticed the detective was slouching more than usual, eyes never leaving the flowers. Hadn’t he known better, he might’ve thought L was actually sad.
The detective reached the casket and finally looked up. The body of his failed successor was already drowning in those white lilies. If you stared long enough, you could almost mistake them for wings. A token of consolation for the one who would never have real ones. The silence stretched. After what felt like an eternity, L placed his lilies on A’s still chest. B saw his lips moving, but was too far away to make out the words. All he knew was that it couldn’t have been forgiveness.
Whatever L was trying to gain from this, B couldn’t understand. Keep an eye on the situation in the orphanage? Convince everyone he cared? B hadn’t thought L would show up in the first place. Surely the world’s greatest detective had more important things to do than attend some orphan’s funeral. What exactly made A so privileged, even in death? B took a deep breath and forced himself to calm down. He had nothing to worry about, not anymore. There were no rivals left for him.
He couldn’t have known that his rivalry was no longer with the other kids, but with the founders of the Wammy’s system themselves. The earth on A’s grave hadn’t even settled when everything started to change. B’s own name marked the beginning of it.
Beyond Birthday. That’s what his real name sounds like. Such a strange thing, more like two random words his parents put into his birth certificate. L’s is strange as well but somehow it sounds more real than B’s. By then, it had been a long time since anyone called him Beyond. Not that there was any reason to. One day, B would’ve become A, and then, finally, L. This was a silent agreement between him and Wammy’s. If only he’d had any say in those stupid decisions Roger and the others made for them!
Soon after the funeral, the littera system was canceled. Kids from the top of the list were allowed to be called their names or nicknames instead of just letters. Upon hearing the news, B only raised his chin higher. He’d thought something like that might happen. A dead student scared the shit out of everyone, so it was likely they’d take a step back. A peace offering, of sorts. Here, have your names back, kiddies, don’t kill yourselves.
B wasn’t going to indulge in this nonsense. All his hard work to become the best would be wasted if he was to reduce himself to Beyond. He never reacted when teachers or classmates called him by his government name. As for the other children, most of them gladly took the chance to return to the past. B found it pathetic. After all, littera had always been a symbol of unwanted children becoming someone meaningful. Now they were just nobodies once more.
B actually believed the administration would stop there, but oh, one miscalculation after another. One day, he walked into his room and grabbed some clean clothes off the bed without looking. It took him a moment to realize he wasn’t holding his white sweatshirt or jeans. It was a black turtleneck. For a moment, B thought his eyes failed him. He quickly went through the rest of the clothes: black shirts, grey pants, socks, for crying out loud! At that point, he suspected it was some idiot’s prank. He made a mental note to find the bastard and make him eat those shirts, then went to lunch.
On his way to the canteen, B noticed that all the kids around him were wearing strange shit. Skirts, sneakers, dresses, T-shirts… All colours of the damn rainbow. The comfortable monochrome was gone. There wasn’t a single person in a white sweatshirt and jeans. B stopped in his tracks and just looked around for a while, trying to make sense of it. The colours irritated him. From the corner of his eye, he noticed one of the teachers approaching him.
“Beyond.” That again. “Is everything alright?”
“Why is everyone dressed in that?” B asked, the last word spat out like venom.
“Oh,” the teacher glanced at the kids heading down the stairs. “The administration decided that we should provide students with more ways to express themselves. You should’ve been given new clothes as well.”
B turned and ran back to his room. Self-expression? Who the fuck needed it in a place like this? They were meant to copy L, to replicate his genius by following in his footsteps! Now what? The fools were destroying everything they’d built with their own hands! No way in hell he’d let them play him like a pawn.
That night B tried to burn their rags in the bathroom. If it hadn’t been for some idiot night owl wandering around, he wouldn’t have been caught so soon. Still, the fire was magnificent. B would’ve let the whole building burn down just to watch the flames rise. It was meant to purify through destruction, just as B sometimes thought of himself.
The staff got rid of the fire, and B was dragged to a therapist. There were a lot of meaningless questions he had to answer. With a bunch of prescribed antidepressants, B soon returned to the orphanage. Everyone treated him like a bomb ready to explode any moment, but he didn’t care. There was only one person whose opinion mattered to him.
B hadn’t seen L since the day of the funeral. Every time he asked if he could visit, there was an excuse. The detective was always too busy, on the phone, working with secret files… Hadn’t stopped him before, ever. B knew they were trying to keep L away from him. The bastards somehow convinced L to go along with all the changes. Of course, they wouldn’t let B near. He might actually knock some sense into him.
All the while, Wammy’s continued falling apart. Even education couldn’t escape the decay. There were clubs established for the children’s free time. B heard Linda decided to paint. Imbecile. All of them, damned platitudes, unfit and unworthy.
So one night, B got onto the roof, ready to sneak into L’s window. Painted face, white sweatshirt and jeans. With careful movements, he climbed down the wall. The window was slightly ajar, so B pushed it open quietly and slipped inside. He was greeted with a strong smell of chocolate. Nothing changed in there: same monitors, same desserts, L’s crouching form on the floor. B could see his eyes running through something on his laptop’s screen. It all felt so familiar, so right after all the wrong things happening, that B let out a breath of relief.
“L,” he called out in an awed whisper.
“Hello, B,” came the usual flat answer. “I suppose you’ve got something important to discuss.”
For a moment, B felt the urge to say he just missed him. To crouch beside L on the floor, steal some of his ice cream and peek into strictly confidential files. It would’ve been so easy to let himself go back to how everything used to be. But he hadn’t come here for an idle chat.
“I do.” B stepped away from the window. “I want to know what exactly is happening to Wammy’s.”
“You can call it a readjustment.” L’s eyes didn’t leave the screen. “Recent events showed its necessity.”
B felt his anger rushing back, washing over his previous excitement.
“Who told you that?”
“It is rather obvious, wouldn’t you say?” Long fingers flew over the keyboard. “A student’s suicide is a serious matter for any institution.”
“We’re not any institution.” B took a step forward. “Who was it? Wammy? Or Roger? Who said we needed changes?”
“Watari suggested the plan, and I approved.”
“He tricked you.”
At these words, L finally lifted his head and looked at B. His eyes were unreadable, but there was a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As if the mere idea of Watari purposely deceiving him was laughable.
“How exactly do you suggest Watari tricked me?”
B dropped to the floor in front of the detective, so their eyes would be on the same level.
“He’s a scared old man. After A’s death, they’ve been too soft on these kids. Nobody dresses like you anymore, nobody eats and sits the right way.”
“Good,” L nodded. “That was the point.”
At that moment, B felt his heart missing a beat.
“You knew? You knew what they were going to do?”
“So I said.” L’s gaze returned to the screen.
Just like that, all B’s hopes were ruined. Even the smartest man on Earth couldn’t open his damn eyes and see that he was robbing them of the future, of himself.
“So that’s it?” B’s voice cracked. “You’re changing the whole system because of one single loser who couldn’t handle the slightest pressure?”
There was a long pause before L answered him.
“The loss of Artemis might not be statistically significant but his personal value, as my most probable successor, can’t be overlooked.”
B felt his nails dig into his palms. Artemis? Most probable successor? This weak bitch didn’t deserve either a name or praise! Why was L always giving him so much?
“The check-ups showed that the number of children with destructive tendencies has increased,” L continued. “We’re trying to make the environment more comfortable for their psychics.”
“Comfortable!” A bitter laugh popped out of B’s throat. “It’s not meant to be comfortable! You can’t just be a smartass and become L! There have to be sacrifices.”
“You all are my responsibility.” He started typing again. “Whatever challenges you face as my successors should help you develop, not kill yourselves.”
“You won’t raise a perfect heir on such a basis. If they break like this, how could they ever manage being L? A couldn’t, fine, to hell with him! You have me!”
One motion, and B snapped L’s laptop shut. That earned him one more look of those silent eyes. A mirror in the dimly lit room.
“Why haven’t you announced I’ll succeed you yet?” B asked in a desperate whisper. “I’ve earned it. What else do I have to do? Just tell me, and I will.”
He leaned closer, searching, hoping for a shift in his reflection.
“I mean it, L. Anything.”
“I’ve looked through your check-up results as well.” L didn’t pull away from the closeness. “You’ve been showing more violent tendencies than usual over the past few months.”
“Are you afraid of me?” B cooed like it was the cutest thing in the world. “Is that why I wasn’t allowed to see you? Oh, L… I would never hurt you.”
“What about other people?” L tilted his head slightly.
B waved his hand dismissively, leaning back.
“If you want me to.”
“If I want you to?” L repeated a little lower.
“Yes.” B smiled. “Suspects often won’t talk. And I can be very persuasive.”
He couldn’t hold back an amused laugh. Such a genius L was, but even he sometimes needed to be reminded of the possibilities.
“The goal is more important than the methods, since L doesn’t make mistakes. That’s what you always told me.”
“Yes, I did.” L went silent for a moment, then nodded. “You’re right, Beyond. I should’ve announced your succession a long time ago. I suppose we can do it tomorrow.”
B’s heart made a leap.
“Yeah,” he managed. “I’d like that.”
“I’ve still got some work to do.” L opened his laptop. “Go back to your room, I’ll see you in the morning.”
He won. He’d have everything back, just in a couple hours. Tomorrow morning B would become L’s only successor.
“Alright.” B almost choked on the word. “See you.”
***
There was nothing but the sound of a food trolley. Thankfully, the day was quite boring, even the inmates were more or less quiet. Officer Peterson never thought he’d be grateful for another heat wave coming to Los Angeles. Soon he’d be able to go home and get some rest.
Halfway down the corridor, he met their prison doctor, Mr Lee. As soon as he noticed Peterson, Dr Lee smiled with visible relief.
“Clocking out, Peterson?”
“On my way, doc.” The officer grinned. “You?”
“Almost there. Just went to check on our loud friend.”
“The burnt one?”
“Yes.”
Peterson winced at the mention of that particular inmate. He was one of the most bothersome psychos in Peterson’s memory. To top that, he was also covered in burn scars from head to toe and barely had a recognizable face.
“Was he screaming again?”
“Unfortunately.” Dr Lee sighed. “He probably still is, but don’t mind him. The sedatives will bring him down soon.”
“Thanks for the notice. Well, see you on Monday!”
Dr Lee headed to his wing, while Peterson pushed his trolley forward. After some time, he heard the screams and mentally braced himself. That psycho always screamed like he was still burning. It was unsettling, to say the least.
When Peterson moved around the corner, he saw him. An almost fully bandaged body thrashed on the bed, struggling against the ties on his arms and legs. His throat produced wild, cutting sounds like those of a dying animal.
“Come here and see what you’ve done!”
Peterson quickened his pace to get past the scene as soon as possible.
“I know your name! I’ll crush you if you don’t come!”
“Hey, buddy!” One of the officers came up from behind. “Ready to go?”
There came another roar.
“I’ll tell you when you die!”
“That one is still yelling?” the officer asked, and Peterson nodded.
“Where are you, L?! Don’t leave me!”
Peterson sighed and kept moving alongside his colleague.
“Don’t mind him. He’ll shut up.”