Scattering Ashes

Title: Scattering Ashes
Chapter Title: Holy Land
Summary: Three years after the fall of Kira, Near continues his role as the successor of L with dutiful indifference. Even so, he is haunted by ghosts of the past—indeed, one comes back from the dead hell-bent on teaching Near how to live.
Disclaimer: Death Note is the property of its creators. I do not own this franchise and no infringement is intended or profit gained by the writing of this fanfiction. I also do not own T.S. Eliot or his works; my quoting of his poems is to enrich the fanfiction but not to profit by it.
Pairing: MattxNear, past MelloxMatt
Spoiler Warning: Hmmm. Hmmmmmm. None reeeeeally—unless, of course, you count that little snippet about Mello and the Mafia.
Alternate Warnings: Rating T is for violence, swearing and adult sexual situations (which will occur later in the fic, please be patient) which include, but are not limited to, homosexuality. Also contains characters dealing with serious subjects like death and grief, so standard angst warnings apply.

Author’s Note: Hi every one! I’m really, really sorry it took so long to get an update to you. I sort of left my boyfriend in California and drove across the country to Maryland by myself on a budget of 300 bucks right after I posted the last chapter. This weekend was the first time I felt inspired to write anything since. I’m well, in case you care, and am working things out. I’ll see if I can get another chapter out before next week, because I’ll be out of town for ten days before Thanksgiving for a painting gig. Yay for money!

Anyway, this chapter turned out somewhat different than was in my head. Some parts are quicker than the slower pace in my imagination; other scenes seem a lot slower on paper than the faster pace that was in my head. I like it, though. I despise the editing process, but for you dearies, I’ll do it every time. I’ve been looking forward to writing this chapter and the two that follow since I began this fic, so I’m excited to know what you think about it. There are more notes at the end of the chapter. Thank you for reading and for all your reviews so far!

Yours,
Gloria



Scattering Ashes

Chapter Six

Holy Land

“You say I am repeating
Something I had said before. I shall say it again.
Shall I say it again? In order to arrive there,
To arrive where you are, to get from where you are not,
You must go by a way wherein there is no ecstasy.

In order to arrive at what you do not know
You must go by a way which is the way of ignorance.

In order to possess what you do not possess
You must go by the way of dispossession.

In order to arrive at what you are not
You must go through the way in which you are not.

And what you do not know is the only thing you know.
And what you own is what you do not own.
And where you are is where you are not.”

~From the end of Part III, East Coker of the Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot

June 11th, 2013

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful.”

“Did you?”

Mello smiled ruefully, leaning his head back to better enjoy the soft breeze that had kicked up. It whispered softly around them, gently moving their hair in sweet caresses. “Well, yeah,” he said. “I hated you for it. Remember?”

You are not paying attention.

Near contorted in a spasm, and then sat up with a jolt.

“Whoa, whoa, alright killer; easy does it.” Matt was reaching over the console with his right arm, pressing Near back into his seat as the detective choked and sputtered. He drove the jeep they were now occupying with his left. Near clutched tightly at Matt’s wrist as he caught his bearings, sucking in one ragged breath after the other. The vehicle vibrated and bounced ungracefully over the uneven road. Near reached up to pull the oppressive woolen hood back, but stopped at the warning sound Matt uttered. “No good, man. These people see an albino walking around and we’ll be sure to catch some unwanted attention.”

“Its sweltering,” Near hissed through parched lips, noticing that Matt was wearing a similar balta.

“Drink some water.”

“How long was I unconscious?”

“Couple hours.”

“Who were the men at the airstrip?”

Matt glanced at him sidelong. “Friends.”

“Where do you find these friends of yours?”

“Internet.”

Near made a short sound of disgust. “I don’t know how you expect me to trust you.”

“I don’t expect that you will.”

“Matt—“

“But don’t worry,” Matt said with a small smile. “I won’t tell anyone you fainted.”

Near felt the sudden urge to scream burst in his chest, but he pressed back on it until it was just mere frustration burning in his belly. He had passed out! Near was unaccustomed to embarrassment. He did not like it at all. He had never before become ill in-flight, and was just about to say so, when Matt said: “So, how long have they been haunting you?”

“Pardon?”

Matt glanced askance at him, the blue of his iris burning from the corner of his eye, until finally he looked back at the road. “Never mind.”

Near hesitated, thinking of the hallucination he had had of L just before losing consciousness. It was unsettling, but that’s just what it was—a hallucination. Near reached for the bottle of water waiting for him in the center console, took a sip, and settled back to gaze out the window.

Jerusalem was one of the oldest cities in the world, and could be dated as far back as the 4th millennium BCE. It had been beautiful many times, and ruins just as often. Strangely, Near found himself wishing he had come here when it had been beautiful.

It still had the gorgeous power of ancestry, and was very evident in certain quarters, but the past year of war had hit the Old City hard, and the new one, even harder. Israeli suburbs had been reduced to broken slums, with dreary-faced natives gazing suspiciously on as they waited for the next raid or the next guerillas attack. The city blocks of skyscrapers that had been impressive two years ago, was now little more than a steely war zone, offering sparse cover of metal and glass. A heavy film of smog and smoke clung to everything, also, making it seem that even though the skies were clear and blue, a dark cloud hung low over the Holy Land.

NATO troops patrolled every street within five miles of the American Embassy, and Matt was stopped several times for papers. They were admitted each time without incident, Near’s companion speaking to the soldiers in craftily accented English. They continued south passed Mount Scopus and veered west towards Wadi Al-Joz, and finally, they entered the walled Old City. The East Jerusalem Arab Area surrounded the Old City like a thick nest, covering the fore and aft of the Pre-1967 Municipality Boundary. Today, Arabs from dozens of different nationalities wandered about, pressing against one another on the crowded streets. They only made it a few miles in before Matt was forced to pull over.

Matt turned off the ignition and checked the fastenings of his turban to make sure it covered the majority of his handsome face. When he finally turned to Near, who had mimicked Matt’s movements and righted his balta, his eyes seemed flat and, when he spoke, his voice distracted. Matt also spoke in Icelandic; a language assuredly only the two of them would know. Wammy’s House had trained them very, very well.

“We need to take this market road several blocks southwest, before making a left onto Christians Street, and then a right onto St. Helen Street.” Matt waited for Near to nod before continuing. “We’re not going through the main entrance to Sepulchre. It’s too dangerous and too crowded. Keep your head low and your face covered—and keep the urn under your robe. Stay close and don’t lose me; I’ll be moving fast.”

Near studied Matt’s cornflower blue eyes for a long moment. “I don’t believe in ghosts,” he murmured.

Matt blinked several times, startled abruptly from his apathy. Finally, Matt breathed in deeply and glanced away. Near watched the fabric covering his mouth dent inwards, effected by the passage of air. “Maybe...you should.”

Near’s dark eyes caught and held Matt’s gaze. “Why?”

Near watched something like fear rise to the surface in Matt’s cornflower blue eyes. “Because—because I’m beginning to think they believe in you.”

Are you paying attention now?

“Yes.”

Matt gave him a strange look, but decided against saying anything else. In a flurry of motion, they were on the move—out of the jeep and walking quickly up the street. Near kept his fingertips trained on the inner-flesh of Matt’s wrist to stay with him as they maneuvered through the crowd. Near couldn’t see a thing, his hood was drawn so low. But he stayed with Matt and did not panic. The heat was oppressive.

They were on St Helen Street very soon, and Matt abruptly veered left, taking the two of them up a back alley, and then down another, and then another. Suddenly they stopped, and Near had to fight the urge to lookup, to expose his face. The urn felt heavy nestled in the hook of his left arm, and he shuffled it to his right. Then Matt was speaking to someone. Near’s mind worked frantically to place the language. It was some jumbled mess of Farsi and Arabic slang. All he caught was the bare end of it: “...as we agreed.”

“Yes,” a man responded in the same dialect. His voice was young and a bit strained. “This way.”

Near breathed in deeply and put his mind to work. In his mind’s eye, he saw a map of Jerusalem. He followed the map and placed where they had pulled over—there, just outside the Jaffa Gate. David Street, Christians Street, St. Helen Street...and then a left, a right, two lefts, another right...

Ah. There.

They were moving again, Matt’s fingers brushing over Near’s when his had gone slack in deep thought. Twists and turns and the sound of a heavy key turning a lock.

Near’s smile disappeared into his balta. Under very different circumstances, Near thought he would very much enjoy this man’s company. Matt had contracted the aid of a son of Joudeh and a son of Nusseibeh. Clever.

Golgotha, or Calvary, or, indeed, Skull Rock, where Yeshua had been allegedly crucified, now resides in the veritable basement of the Holy Church of Sepulchre. This massive church is controlled and portioned off by a little over half a dozen separate sects. This is called the status quo. The status quo is divided into separate ‘responsibilities’ or custodial duties overseen by different religions. The foremost of these is the Greek Orthodox Church and the other primary custodians are the Eastern Orthodox, Armenian Apostolic, and Roman Catholic Churches. Lesser duties were eventually assigned to the Coptic Orthodox, the Ethiopian Orthodox and the Syriac Orthodox Churches.

However, one duty was never assigned to any Christian sect. Saladin, in 1192, had given the responsibility of the main entrance to two neighboring Muslim families. One he entrusted with the key, the other—the Nusseibeh, whose relationship with the Old City can be traced back to 637 Anno Domini—with the guarding of the entrance. These two families still continue this arrangement today. Near wondered what Matt had promised them for their aid.

They were ushered into estranged halls and down rocky tunnels so low they had to stoop to maneuver through. It was cooler here, even if a bit cramped. Near was happy to get away from the blistering sun and its heat. At last, they came to a stop.

“The ambulatory is on the other side of this wall,” the Nusseibeh man said. “This door will open up on the Catholic side of Calvary. Be quick, custodians will come in to clean in ten minutes.”

“Thank you,” Matt responded.

“I will wait here.”

Matt’s fingers encircled Near’s wrist and together they all but crawled to the end of the tunnel and pushed against the creaking, wooden door. Well, maybe not a door in the strictest sense. Indeed, Near found as Matt helped him through and his hood fell back, it was more like a hidden latch beneath a lavish rug. They had come up through the floor.

The actual rock was encased in glass, surrounded on all sides by three altars. Near undid Mello’s urn and reached his hand inside, eyeing Matt as he did so. The renegade seemed unnaturally pale and unkempt, a stark contrast in this place of lush appointments, the holiest of holies, of worship and greed and grief. Matt was doing his best not to touch anything.

Near grabbed a handful of ashes and reached over the Rock of Calvary, letting the ashes slip through his fingers. It made a mess; clouds of dingy gray against gorgeous reds and golds, the smell of must against frankincense and myrrh. Near felt a measure of satisfaction well up inside of him. Maybe Mello wasn’t so complicated. He understood the compulsion to mar something beautiful, to disturb the quiet grace of ignorance. Perhaps this was why Mello had sent him here. Near felt he understood Mello better, if only just a little, if only for a spare moment. It was gone as quickly as it had come.

They heard a tapping beneath them. The Nusseibeh lad was warning them to watch their time. Near refastened the lid to Mello’s urn and tucked it safely underneath his balta. Then he pulled the hood back over his eyes and took Matt’s hand. Near squeezed it a little. After a moment, Matt squeezed back. “I’m okay,” Matt whispered.

Near didn’t believe him, but he nodded anyway. “Alright, let’s go.”

The son of Nusseibeh led them back to the alley unscathed. After a short exchange, Matt thanked the young man again, and they made their way quickly back to the car. Matt sat at the wheel for a moment staring at his hands, but when Near moved to ask if he was alright, the hacker started the engine and pulled out onto the street. After some deliberation, Matt was able to get the vehicle turned around and headed north, toward Damascus Gate.

Recognizing the northern Old City gate, Near turned to Matt and inquired: “Garden Tomb?”

“Yeah,” Matt answered without looking at him. “Just in case.”

Near nodded. There were some claims that Garden Tomb was the actual location for Skull Rock as it had been used as a site for burial since the Byzantine period.

“Matt.”

“Hm?”

“Something is bothering you.” It was not a question.

Matt did not answer until they had found a new place to park. “I’m—um—no stranger to the panic attacks.” Matt turned off the ignition and lit a cigarette. His arm shook, causing the flame to dance wildly around the smoke clenched between Matt’s teeth. “I used to get them all the time when I was a kid. Remember?”

“No.” Near gave him a blank look. “I do remember that you were particularly averse to going outside—given, of course, you are who you say you are.”

Matt sent him an annoyed look. “Hm. Well—it gets better. You know, the panic.” Matt cleared his throat and checked his rear view mirror. “You learn how to tune everything else out. Except for the parts that keep you from walking in front of a bus.” Matt’s lips twisted as if he’d made some personal, sardonic joke. “You get so used to tuning it out that—that when something’s off, or not right, you sense it.”

Matt met Near’s unblinking gaze. “Is something not right?” Near asked in a flat voice.

They stared at one another for a long minute before Matt wrenched his eyes away. “Let’s just say I’ll feel a lot better once we’re back on that plane.”

Near followed a whim and asked: “Why did you get them?” The panic attacks. Matt knew what he meant.

Near saw Matt stiffen and grow even paler. Matt opened his mouth to answer, his eyes staring off into some memory Near could not fathom. But then Matt shook himself and stepped out of the jeep. Near did the same.

Matt seemed agitated as they made their way up the rock face, his eyes darting about and staring into the eyes of everyone they passed, memorizing their features, categorizing their turbans and shawls. The top of the hill had only one other visitor, and strangely enough, he seemed to be a Jewish Rabbi. Near murmured a respectful greeting to the elderly man in Hebrew and the man smiled kindly back at him, nodding. Near unfastened the urn and removed a handful of ashes. A soft breeze whispered through his hair and moved sweetly along his skin as he spread the ashes. Near’s eyes slid closed and how long he stood there, enjoying that beautifully calm sensation he’d felt in L’s graveyard in Japan, he wasn’t sure.

Suddenly, next to him, Matt inhaled sharply and grasped his arm, roughly flinging Near behind him as a gunshot shattered the stillness of the air. And then everything went mad.

Near found himself being thrown into the elderly Rabbi and together they toppled to the ground. Another shot fired, causing rock and dirt to explode inches from Near’s head. Matt was screaming for him to stay down as he removed a pistol from his waistband and returned fire. Near twisted from his crouch on the ground to see where Matt was aiming. Three men were running up the ramp to the west of them, their features obscured by the black turbans and shawls covering their dark, bearded faces. They wore dark, camouflage trousers, long white shirts stitched up the sides, and camouflage jackets. They were armed with rifles.

Behind him, two more were scrambling up the rock face. Matt shouted his name and Near felt the air near his face crack. He flung himself sideways, grasping the arm of the Rabbi and pulling him with him as Matt shot three rounds at the perpetrators climbing up the rock face. One went down immediately; the other shouted angrily in Lebanese and then went tumbling down after his comrade when Matt sent a bullet into his left shoulder. The three coming up the ramp were screaming indiscernibly and concentrating their firepower on Matt who was a blur of motion, dodging and rolling and cursing as he ran out of bullets.

Wammy’s House had drilled them relentlessly when they were children. Drilled them on their studies, current politics, forensic science, history—and yes, even self-defense. They were taught an endless stream of martial arts from Capoeira to Tae Kwon Do and back again. They were trained to use all manner of firearms and explosives, they were taught tumbling and acrobatic techniques. Even Near, who hated every minute of it, had been no exception to these lessons—though it was always assumed he would necessitate personal security should he inherit L’s title. Near remembered Mello had been very interested in weaponry and that his counterpart had shared some liking to missile logistics and war games. As Near watched Matt move, using his body like a human shield as he rushed toward them, adding another clip to a pistol Near had no idea the hacker was carrying, the detective realized that if this man was really Matt, then it was very possible that Wammy’s had been training him for in-field intel from the very beginning. Near knew that Matt hadn’t always been with Mello. In fact, he remembered that often Mello would be in a sour mood when the young hacker would turn up missing for hours at a time. Then, Near had thought nothing of it. Frankly, he just didn’t care. But now Near thought perhaps Matt had been receiving private lessons. After all, Matt had been able to best both Halle and Rester at the orphanage with a bum arm and no weapon. And Near knew from experience that Halle and Rester were both very, very capable. Also, Near had always thought it strange that Mello would turn to Matt when his Mafia had crumbled to nothing during the last days of Kira. What could Matt possibly have had that the Mafia didn’t?

“Near!”

Near twisted from his hunched position beside the quivering Rabbi.

“Do you remember how to get to the jeep?” He spoke in Icelandic and Near answered in kind.

“I am not inclined to leaving you here,” Near stated, his clear voice carrying over the raucous. The three remaining attackers were crouched behind a nearby boulder, reloading their rifles and shouting to one another.

Matt closed the distance between them and grasped Near by his collar, bringing their noses a mere inch apart. “I don’t give a flying fuck what you’re inclined to do Near,” he hissed, his blue eyes blazing. “You protect that urn and you get the fuck back to the car.”

A weird sort of ache clenched Near’s chest at his words. Near knew it was foolish, but he had almost believed that Matt was trying to protect him. But no. No. Matt was concerned only about the blasted, goddamned urn.

Near opened his mouth to protest again, but Matt had already turned away, crouched low and moving behind a small boulder for cover. Matt made a series of small hand gestures to Near the detective surmised was some sort of code for ‘get going’ and then began firing his weapon in the direction of their attackers. Near grabbed the Rabbi’s sleeve and tugged him along as they retreated, staying low and near-silent. Beside him, the Rabbi was chanting a prayer of safekeeping in Hebrew. They turned a corner and Near lost sight of Matt. His heart hammered loudly in his ears and his breath began coming in short gasps. His feet felt like lead as they descended the rock face, the gravel treacherous and loose. Over the noise of his own sudden internal panic, he heard Matt shout in pain.

Before Near registered his own movements, he shoved Mello’s precious urn into the arms of the Rabbi and turned on his heel, scrambling back up the path. Near dashed around the corner, his balta flying around his ankles. The first thing he saw was two more bodies littering the ground, the next was Matt engaged in hand to hand combat with the sole surviving terrorist. This man was massive, broad-shouldered and quick. He danced around Matt and jabbed cruelly at the hacker’s weak arm, causing him to stumble and back into a boulder. There was a flash, sunlight glinting off of the blade the attacker produced, but Matt lunged forward and dove for a nearby rifle. The blade caught Matt in his good arm, but he managed to get his left hand around the weapon. Matt swept his legs around, causing the attacker to stumble backwards. Matt shoved the butt of the rifle into the man’s abdomen and the attacker fell to his knees. The firearm twirled in Matt’s hand; he cocked it and took aim, his features a ruthless, stony mask.

But Matt hesitated. He glanced up and saw Near standing there. They locked eyes.

It was all the attacker needed.

Suddenly Matt doubled over, shouting in pain. He staggered sideways, clutching the hilt of the dagger protruding from his side. The attacker shoved him back, kicking Matt in the chest as he went down. Then he kicked him in the face, in the stomach—and then two shots fired and the man collapsed.

Near shakily pointed the pistol he’d picked up to his left, then his right, and then dropped it altogether, rushing over to Matt. There was blood pooling on the ground where the hacker was laying. Near fell to his knees and grasped Matt’s shoulders, the sound of his speeding heartbeat crashing in his ears. Near shook him.

“Matt! Matt!!”

Matt cringed and moaned in pain, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Near grabbed Matt’s arm and flung it around his shoulders. Straining and breathing heavily, Near managed to stand. Somewhere to the south, sirens were whining and people were shouting. He made it about five steps before he stumbled. Abruptly, his load became lighter. It was the old Rabbi. The old man’s eyes were wide, but his face was set and his voice stern when he said in Hebrew: “There will be more. You must come with me. Quickly now. Come.”

~*~

Paris.

Halle’s second home. She loved it here. When she was a student, she took up studying French as a mere elective. Eventually, it had captured a secret, romantic part of her soul. She spoke the language fluently and even owned a small cottage outside the capital. She used to stay there for weeks at a time whenever the CIA let her have leave. And then she signed on with Near. Halle had not been back since.

For all that she adored and respected Near, he was a hard boss to work for at times. He was cold and calculating, snubbed affection and mocked camaraderie whenever she and Rester seemed a touch too chipper. But, he was fair, in his own way.

Near often gave them time off. Mostly, Halle felt it was because the young detective simply tired of their company—even if Near had always seemed slightly more comfortable with Rester than with her. Even so, Halle would always maintain her firm belief that Near was just lonely, and bitter because of it, even if he didn’t know that. And neither Halle nor Rester liked leaving Near on his own for very long. So when Near did allot them vacation time, they both often chose to stay close by and always returned earlier than scheduled.

Well and so, Halle missed her summer cottage in France—and the delicious taste of Parisian croquet monsieur in the city. Paris had always had a wonderfully calming effect on her—one that she certainly needed today. This is why she chose Paris for her rendezvous with Rester.

She smiled from her seat in the back of the dimly lit La Mère Lachaise, a beautiful café close to the Père Lachaise cemetery, as Rester walked through the door. He stood awkwardly in the entrance, a full head taller than anyone else there. Then he spotter her and made his way through the café. Their table was in the back corner, facing all three exits and just behind the bar. Old habits die hard.

Rester took a seat beside her so they both could watch the exits and took off his hat. “I hate the French.”

Halle’s laugh was a little strained—a pale echo of what it usually was, but it was a laugh nevertheless. The corner of Rester’s mouth lifted a bit. He ordered a martini with extra olives from the server who approached them and then turned to face Halle.

Halle took a large swallow of her wine. She did not mince words. “The body is a John Doe.”

“What?” Rester’s face went tight and shuttered. “Where’s the kid’s body, then? Why would somebody switch bodies?” Halle gave him a long look. “You don’t think anyone switched bodies. Halle, you think—“

“I don’t know what to think,” she interrupted. “I just know that was the body I saw three years ago and a new, unbiased doctor is telling me it’s not Matt.”

“Who was the doctor who did the first autopsy?”

“I was thinking the same thing. I looked it up and the woman was going by the name Kimiko Kujo. I can’t find her.”

Rester was quiet for a moment, accepting his martini and chewing thoughtfully on an olive. “Do you think Matt was in league with her?”

Halle took another long swig of her wine. “You know, Rester? I really don’t know anything about Matt. That’s really hard to say. All I remember was that this kid was like Mello’s shadow and really didn’t seem to like being there.”

“Skittish?”

“No. More annoyed. Anyone could look calm next to Mello, but that Matt took the cake. He just seemed really, really bored.”

Rester grunted and sipped his martini. “Near never really spoke of him.”

“Well.” Halle set down her wine glass and crossed her arms, frowning angrily into the distance. “He seemed to trust the little prick enough to go walking off with him. What’s the deal with the chopper?”

“Met the guy who flew it.”

Halle raised a brow at him. “You sure?”

“I know it in my gut,” Rester said quietly. “It’s him. I didn’t press because I didn’t get the feeling he knew what his package was.”

Halle looked at Rester for a long time. “Oh,” she said finally. Halle uncrossed and then re-crossed them. “Well...that’s not exactly good news, now is it?”

Rester shook his head. It meant that Matt somehow had enough influence in the armed forces to use their machines on a whim. That tended to point down ghost trails that Halle and Rester had been pros at leaving when they worked for the government. They would never find Matt and Near this way.

Rester took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “So, I guess we follow your lead.”

Halle nodded. “Kimiko Kujo.”

To Be Continued...

A/N: I didn’t want to crowd the chapter with a bunch of numbers, so I hope you’ll be able to follow this anyway.

A balta is a type of Middle Eastern dress. It is long and tends to fasten in the front. They do not always have hoods and some aren’t even worn with shawls or turbans. Often, you would find a woman wearing a balta because it is so concealing. For all intents and purposes, I had our boys wearing them as semi-disguises for this chapter.

The status quo is factual. In fact, there have been dozens of accounts of brawls breaking out over this person setting their chair in a way on the roof where another sect deems it disrespectful and chaos ensues. They take the status quo very seriously in Sepulchre. It humored me to have Near make a mess of Calvary with the ashes. I wonder who would be blamed.

Also, the two Muslim families that Saladin entrusted with the safekeeping of the front entrance of Sepulchre is also factual. They do, in fact, still carry out their duties to this very day at sunrise and sunset. I do not know, however, whether the Nusseibeh would have access to secret tunnels of Sepulchre. That is creative license.

Croquet monsieur is a food.

La Mère Lachaise is an actual café in France. I’ve never been, but it sounds quite marvelous.

Doumi: Thank you for such a wonderful review! I like that moment too, when they’re both idly doing what they like to do and sitting on the floor like a couple of children playing quietly. Writing their sparring match was a teensy bit difficult—especially around that part where Near seems to not be able to give Matt a direct answer about the children of Whammy’s. But it was loads of fun too. I’m glad you enjoyed it!

“I am no one’s Watari.” actually came to me when I was thinking about a chapter down the road. It felt good to move it up though, and I think I may add to it later. It’s fun to think of Matt as a little resentful of how the competition at Whammy’s and the Kira case turned his best friend sour. And writing Near frustrated at being socially...inept is fun too—even though I remember writing a review to Tear You Apart where I loved how you portrayed Near as not really socially awkward, just that he really didn’t care to socialize. I still maintain that your Near is the best.

I’m glad you liked the summary of Japan in post-Kira times. It felt important to touch on that if I was going to use Aizawa for a minute. And it was actually a lot of fun to think about it! I love Rester. I love that I don’t have to write a whole lot about him for him to come through clearly on the page. I adore characters like that. Scattering Ashes is planned for twenty chapters even. I’m trying out a new kind of outline where the story is split into five separate mini-archs and each arch is themed with a place on the list where Near and Matt must scatter Mello’s ashes. Each arch has four chapters. We’re half-way through arch two.  And then I can begin the sequel.

Thank you again for your lovely comments and I sure hope you enjoy the update!

inuyashalove04: Thank you for your review!!! Lol, oh my goodness, yes! I did a ton of homework for that chapter! Thanks for the kudos! Makes me happy that the work was appreciated. 

Lol, the scene at the morgue was my favorite of that chapter to write. When the doctor said something about ....unfortunate aneurism... I imagined that Halle would begin cursing eloquently—but then I feared that the doctor would feel disrespected and that it would lead into a mess. So I went with “I'm sorry?” for her response—which is chaste but also funny. I’m really glad you liked it! I wish I could b a fly on the wall while the two of them are just staring dumfounded at the rotten corpse.

”Oh, fucking hell...” was the very first thing that came to mind when I was thinking of the response from Matt and it made me giggle for some thirty minutes. I eventually put in because I felt it was a very Brit kind of reaction and also I was thinking that Matt was afraid Near might faint on him at some point and that it happened when Near was finally beginning to seem stable. But, of course, there’s more. I hope the beginning of this chapter helped to give you an idea of the direction I’m headed with the hallucinations and the hauntings. Though, L’s presence is a fun mystery I might stretch out even longer than Mello’s.

Thank you again for your review and I hope you enjoyed the update!