Chapter 2

Oh god, they're dead!

There's a horrible, nauseous feeling in my stomach. Gasping, I lean against the wall of the alley, feeling faint.

That guy, he… they just… died, both of them, they died… I did it, I killed them, me… oh god, no, this can't be happening… the police will figure it out, no way they won't, and then I'll… I'll… I'll be arrested… no… how could I kill someone, kill anyone? Everyone has a right to life, who am I to, to take it away, even if they were disgusting scumbags… I killed them… Why, oh, why did I pick up this damned notebook…?


"What a stupid attempt at a chain letter."

I set the notebook back down on the ground and walked away.

Is that what people are into these days? That's sick, not to mention twisted… 'The human whose name is written in this note shall die'… Please.

But something makes me turn back. Walk back to the notebook, look at it again. Pick it up. Put it in my bag.

Am I actually considering that this might be real? Something's wrong with me, I think as I walk home.

Back in my room, I read the rest of the instructions.

This note will not take effect unless the writer has the person's face in their mind when writing his/her name. Therefore, people sharing the same name will not be affected.

If the cause of death is written within 40 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen.

If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack.

After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

Well, even if it is a prank, it's a lot more thought-out than most chain e-mails and other stuff like that.

"So, I write a name down, and that person… dies." It seems impossible. "Like anyone would believe that," I say, half trying to reassure myself that it's an unbelievable thing.

Stop being an idiot, Light. If I write someone's name on my school notebook, does that person die? No. Why should this be any different?

So I get up, open the notebook, grab my pencil, put it's tip to the paper. To prove that it's a hoax.

Then I stop.

What if someone actually dies? I think. If that happens, am I a murderer? It's a worrying thought.

Then I put the pencil down, sighing. I'm getting too serious about this. It's a prank, that's all. Grabbing the remote, I turn on the TV.

"A suspect in a brutal stabbing that occurred in Shinjuku yesterday is barricaded inside this preschool with hostages. The suspect has been identified as 42-year-old Kurou Otoharada."

Great. More news on how crime runs rampant. Just what I needed.

Then, the man's picture flashes up on the screen, along with his name.

I don't know what happens then. I really don't. All I know is, suddenly I'm writing his name down in the Death Note, thinking of his face. Then I look at the clock.

A heart attack in 40 seconds.

I wait. 44 seconds pass.

Nothing happens.

Initially I feel relieved, but then I berate myself silently. Idiot. You knew it was a prank. Why get so worked up?

"So it's fake after all," I say. "Not that I expected it to be real." I get up to turn off the TV.

"Wait! We're seeing something here!"

I stop.


No way. It can't be. A notebook can't possibly…

"It looks like… yes! The hostages are coming out! They appear to be unharmed! The police are taking action, they're moving in! What's going on?! Have negotiations succeeded?!"

Oh my god, no. This can't be real.

"Okay, we now have confirmation. The suspect has been found dead inside! I repeat, the suspect is now dead!"


No way. It couldn't… It can't…

"According to eyewitness reports, the suspect just suddenly collapsed."

A heart attack… in 40 seconds…

I can't do anything but stare at the TV and protest silently in my head.

It's impossible… just writing someone's name down can't kill them! It's not true…

I take a deep breath. Okay, calm down. It's got to be a coincidence. Okay, so it's a really freaky coincidence, but a coincidence just the same.


I jump, a sudden feeling of being caught racing through me. Does my subconscious believe I killed that guy on TV by writing his name down? I must be going insane…

"Light, it's 6:30. Don't you have cram school tonight?"

Mom's voice.

"Y-yeah, I'm just getting ready. Be right down, okay?"

Death Note…

I put the black notebook in my bag, thinking. If there's any chance that this can actually kill people… and let's face it, if I'm honest with myself there's a huge chance it's for real… I have to test it out, just once more. Once more…

The thought sends chills down my spine.


I killed them… I killed them both… me, I killed someone, I caused them to die, both of them… they were humans like me! What… what right do I have to decide that they can't live anymore… oh god, they're dead because of me…

The queasiness in my stomach becomes too much to bear and I double over, retching.

"Ughh… Oh god, why did I write down those names…"

The queasiness spikes again, and this time I throw up. Wiping my mouth, I try to stand up, but the stress and worry makes it almost impossible. I lean against the alley wall, trying to at least keep myself upright.

Oh god, what now? If I go home, my parents will notice something's wrong, and… I'll crack I can't take even this… and then I'll be arrested and charged for murder… oh god, no… What do I do… someone help… please…

Then it's like my head explodes.

My vision shatters, or a more accurate phrase would be that it goes ballistic. Blue, shining streaks flash around, and everything is disjointed and oddly colored and it's like I can't tell where the sky and the ground are anymore, even as I hit a hard, flat, wet surface that must be the floor of the alley.

And then I feel something, something sinister and alien, something that sure as hell isn't human moving through me. I feel little, vine-like tendrils wrapping around my muscles, spreading throughout my body, until they are wrapped around every single nerve, every reflex, every minuscule muscle that controls those tiny, minute variations in my facial expressions. It's all over me.

And it feels so wrong.

By this time the odd vision overload has passed, and I stand up forcefully, clutching my bag in a death grip, but the sudden in height is too much and I fall back to the ground and start convulsing, because these weird things that are spread throughout my body feel so alien and evil and just plain wrong that I want them out, they have to get out, I need them out, otherwise I'm going to go crazy with the wrongness of it all. I'm moving, twisting, trying to shake them out, but they tighten their grip on my muscles and they start to burn me, and it hurts, and I'm clawing at myself, trying to rip them out, get them out, so they can't hurt me anymore.

Then a sudden mental force pushes at me, and I somehow know that it comes from the tendrils, but before I can figure out why I know this, a wall of blackness bursts across my vision, and the tendrils burn more and send searing pain through my limbs.

It's too much, and even though I can feel the animalistic scream of pain building up inside me, I try my best to hold it in, until I can't stand it anymore and I open my mouth to let it out.

But no sound comes.

Not a sound that can be heard, at least. A mental scream of anguish echoes through my mind.

Then I realize that my mouth isn't open. And that can't be, because I clearly remember sending the appropriate nerve signal to the muscles that control my mouth that would tell it to open.

But I'm just lying slumped against the wall of the alley, breathing heavily. That does not surprise me, given the freakish ordeal I just went through. Fortunately, I can't feel the burning presence of the tendrils anymore. It's all exhaustion, fatigue, relief, and triumph.

Wait; triumph?

Well, I suppose I might feel triumph after managing to get rid of that alien thing that somehow bound itself to my muscles.

Suddenly, the fingers on my right hand twitch involuntarily. Then the fingers on my other hand follow suit. They both flex, and then push me up off the ground into a standing position. My head looks from side to side.

All this happens without my willing it to.

Feelings of triumph and satisfaction flood my mind. Those feelings aren't mine.

Then I feel it again. The alien thing.

It's controlling my body.

A/N:: Yay for cliffies and run-on sentences!

Okay, I feel that there are a lot of things wrong with this chapter, but this is the best I've been able to get it. (The first draft would rot your brain, trust me.) I was going to mention them in this author's note, but my arm hurts too much. So, if you have a question, put it in your review and I'll private-message you, as well as put answers to all the questions in an author's note at the beginning of the next chapter.

And review even if you don't have a question. Reviews are my ego-booster.