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Beyond Birthday carefully studied his face in the grungy mirror. He didn’t know why the prison wardens bothered keeping the mirror in his cell; he’d told them he didn’t spend much time on his appearance. He supposed they hadn’t wanted to bother trying to unscrew the bolts that kept it securely in the wall, preventing prisoners from removing the mirror and using it as some kind of weapon. He sighed and scraped a bit of grime off of a bolt. They were probably rusted in anyways. He returned his gaze to the mirror.

Dead eyes stared back at him. Using a finger with a nail that was bitten down to the quick, he pulled his bottom eyelid away from his eyeball, revealing the pinkish underside. He cocked his head and tried to decide if the bags under his eyes were any darker than they’d been yesterday, but could only ascertain that they were darker than they’d been before Naomi Misora came along. Before prison. Had they been but a deep gray then, not really black? So few things were truly black in this world. Human pupils were very close to true black, but Beyond Birthday didn’t have pupils. His eyes were iris-less, pupil-less… Much like L’s, in fact. He was no longer proud of his resemblance to L—by underestimating Misora, he’d only proved that he wasn’t worthy of L. Beyond Birthday let his eyelid fall back into place, blinking as if he’d put in a contact. He ran a hand through his cropped black hair that stuck up at odd angles no matter how short it got. It was hard to get used to having it this length, but in a frenzy of self-hatred and rage, he’d cut it off with the blunt craft scissors that were all he was allowed in prison. He had been monitored even then, but no one had stopped him. No one had ever stopped him from doing anything until Misora came along. Death… the one thing Beyond Birthday had ever truly wanted, and the one thing he couldn’t get. Beyond Birthday let himself collapse onto the bed, but lying on his twisted back was uncomfortable, and he pulled himself up into his customary crouch, hugging his thin legs even tighter than usual.

His mouth was dry. He hadn’t had sugar since he’d arrived. The chef had laughed at him when he’d asked for jam and had shoveled protein slop on his tray. He’d heard of prisoners who had visitors, who brought them things like candy bars and playing cards… But who would visit Beyond Birthday? The only two people who really knew of his existence beyond the brief notice in the paper—“Serial Killer Captured, Sentenced to Life in Prison,” were Misora and L. Neither one probably devoted a thought to him since they’d put him away. It had been long years now… Five years? Fifteen? It could have only been a week. Beyond Birthday couldn’t measure days—his body clock had never functioned right. His insomnia didn’t allow him to sleep, so he couldn’t tell nights from days in the windowless, clock-less cell. If he saw a prisoner with a death date that read ‘June 18, 2006,’ he wouldn’t know if the prisoner would die tomorrow or three years from now. His whole purpose—his biggest asset, the eyes, were meaningless. Names meant nothing here. The eyes didn’t show you the inmate numbers. Just names… names from a different lifetime… Beyond Birthday was inmate number 1313… or was it 404? The numbers were hazy… numbers from a different lifetime… 13 was B. 1 + 3 was 4… 4 victims. Or was it 3? The guards refused to give him a calendar. He didn’t know why. After they’d refused to give him the puzzle book that he’d carried around for years, he’d stopped asking. He’d memorized most of the puzzles in there, anyways. Only one still evaded him…

"In a small town in Switzerland, a barber shaves every man in town who doesn’t shave himself. Who shaves the barber?"

There had been a comment by it that said “Don’t worry if you can’t solve it. This is an impossible puzzle. Just messing with you. –editor.” Beyond Birthday didn’t believe it. Every puzzle had an answer—there was no such thing as an impossible puzzle. Maybe unsolvable, but never impossible. There was always an answer, even if you couldn’t find it. Beyond Birthday knew this, and so he’d torn out and discarded the answer sheet in the puzzle book as soon as he’d bought it. He knew there was an answer, so why else should he have to look? Life didn’t have an answer sheet, or Beyond Birthday wouldn’t be in this mess. Wammy’s House would never have had to be built, and Beyond Birthday would probably be living a normal life… perhaps he would have been adopted by a painter or a physical therapist.

Beyond Birthday closed his eyes, meditating. His brain needed the rest, and although his extreme insomnia wouldn’t allow him to sleep, meditation helped.

Maybe the barber is a woman and doesn’t shave…

----------------------------------------

“This him?” a guard pointed his thumb towards a strangely familiar man who sat with his knees up on a chair, much like Beyond Birthday did.

“Who?” Beyond Birthday was confused. They’d told him he had a visitor… or had he dreamed that? Could you dream if you didn’t sleep? Didn’t they call that daydreaming? But was it day right now or night? And, most importantly, where had he seen this face before? Through a window, he thought. A window in a wall… or a mirror? His thoughts slipped away like wet soap on a bathtub floor. Fingers reach for it, but it always skids away as if pulled by a string. Tantalizing, close… Like sand through a sieve. Like sugar through a sieve, coffee through a filter… Coffee. Sugar. Mud. Naomi Misora said it was poison.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

The guard spoke irritatingly slowly, as if speaking to a mentally disabled child. “This man. Is he your brother?”

“I… I don’t know. No. I don’t know him.”

“What are you talking about, brother? You know me all too well,” the man said, and laughed. Beyond Birthday liked the laugh. He recorded it mentally, planning to practice it later.

Beyond Birthday squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t have a brother. I’m an orphan. I…” he stopped. He’d said too much. Beyond Birthday, Rue Ryuzaki wasn’t an orphan. B was the orphan. L might know about him being B, but no one else did. Did they? He felt like he was on the edge, treading water… walking around in quicksand, in circles, creating a whirlpool like little children in a kiddy pool. Always back to the beginning, no end. No sleep, no death, no end in sight. Just around and around and around and around—

“Brother! Can you hear me?” The man was speaking, but Beyond Birthday couldn’t see his face. His eyelids were too heavy... like curtains. “Curtains” meant “The End.” No end… circles…

“I don’t know you. I’m not your brother,” he said without opening his eyes. Maybe when he opened them it would all be gone, like a bad dream. It would be back before August 22nd, and he would revise his plan to make sure Misora didn’t find out. She couldn’t find out… he should have killed himself another way. Hung himself, slit his wrists while covered in gasoline. In his last moments, he could flick a lighter and burn his corpse. L had solved an unsolvable case, so why couldn’t Beyond Birthday? Why did the solution elude him? Was the barber a woman or a man?

The man was shaking him, and the guards were letting him. Why were they letting him? Visitors weren’t supposed to touch the prisoners.

“Rue, cut it out! You know me, I’m your brother! Elliot!”

The man was sure making a show. It was overly dramatic, like he was acting. Acting well, but still acting. Elliot. L ee ot. L!

Beyond Birthday’s eyes flew open. “EL-liot?” he asked, intentionally putting emphasis on the first syllable. That was why this man looked familiar. Why he looked like the spitting image of Beyond Birthday and could pass as his brother.

L sighed with relief. “Yes, Elliot Ryuzaki. Your brother. I’ve come to visit you, Rue.” He nodded, almost imperceptibly, to let Beyond Birthday know his inference had been correct.

Beyond Birthday was ecstatic. L had come to see him! But then he remembered that L thought Beyond Birthday was a criminal who had done terrible things. L must just be here to interrogate him. Beyond Birthday didn’t have anything to confess to—he’d been put away for life, wasn’t that enough for L? Or maybe L thought he deserved the death sentence.

A second, more horrible thought crossed his mind. What if L knew that Beyond Birthday had lost the will to live and realized that Beyond Birthday wasn’t only dedicated to making an impossible case, but actually wanted to end his life? L might be here on because he felt bad for Beyond Birthday, or because he knew Beyond Birthday was B and thought B’s depression was partly his fault after Wammy’s House.

“I don’t need your pity,” Beyond Birthday spat.

“What?”

“I don’t need this, EEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLiot, so why don’t you just go back to your work. I know you’re terribly busy serving justice to sinners like me.” Beyond Birthday whirled on his heel, intending to leave for his cell, but he instead found arms that had been shaking him moments ago locked around him in an embrace.

“Guards!” Beyond Birthday yelled, but once again the useless thugs did nothing. The idiots were there to watch the inmates, not the visitors.

“I know your secret, B,” L whispered in his ear.

Beyond Birthday stopped struggling.

“I was visiting Wammy’s House to look into talking to the man who runs things when Watari isn’t around about who deserves to succeed me. Kira’s out to get me, you see, and although I don’t think he knows my name yet, I’ve definitely got to be careful.” L paused, realizing that Beyond Birthday had no idea what that meant. He shook his head, dismissing it as unimportant, and continued. “So, while I was there, I ran into an old friend of yours. C, I thinks she’s called.”

Chrysanthemum Carnival. Beyond Birthday smiled at the mention of his childhood confidant.

“She saw me, and ran over, and then apologized, she’d thought I was you. I told her about you being imprisoned—I didn’t say why, and she started crying and talking about when she first met you. Said you knew her name without being asked. She speculated that you might have heard it from one of the teachers. She didn’t seem to think much of it, but I did. I went back and checked through all the school records. You might have known she was C, but the school has no record of her as Chrysanthemum Carnival. How did you know?”

Bluntly, Beyond Birthday said, “I can see people’s names and life spans just by seeing their face.”

L breathed in sharply, but appeared to believe him. “Does anyone else have this power?”

“Not as far as I know.”

L looked pensive. “If Kira had your power… if Kira’s who I think he is…” He shuddered. “Thank God he doesn’t.”

“Kira?” Beyond Birthday asked. It was the second time L had mentioned that name, and Beyond Birthday didn’t know who it was.

L shook his head. “Never mind. What really happened in the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases?”

Beyond Birthday laughed, a soft ‘Heh heh’ that was much more natural than the abnormal giggles he normally used. A quiet chuckle was appropriate for the situation, and he didn’t need to draw any more attention to them than what they were being given simply for the fact that they’d been hugging and whispering to each other for ten minutes straight. (He wondered, in fact, why no one had stopped them yet—it was extremely suspicious. But then again, all the guards were utterly incompetent.) But I digress. Beyond Birthday laughed. “Is that what they’re calling the case now? I rather like it. Although I always hoped it would have been called the Unsolvable Case, I suppose that name no longer fits.”

“B. Stay focused. What really happened?”

Beyond Birthday’s mind wouldn’t stay in one place. “I can’t focus, L. Ever since I’ve been in this place, I’ve been slipping. My reasoning ability is 43% less than what it used to be.”

“Here. Maybe this will help.” L reached into a paper bag that was lying on the table, letting go of Beyond Birthday in the process. Beyond Birthday felt naked without L’s arms around him.

L produced a jar of strawberry jam. How had he known what Beyond Birthday’s favorite flavor was? How had he known that Beyond Birthday liked jam? Did Misora tell him? Did C? Why would either of them think it was important?

L smiled and handed the jar to Beyond Birthday, saying, “When I need to think, I eat sweets. I rarely eat anything but during investigations.” His teeth closed on the tip of his ring finger, carefully severing a hangnail. “Do you like jam?”

Unscrewing the cap and shoveling jam into his mouth, Beyond Birthday swallowed before speaking. “I killed people on their death day.”

“Huh?”

“My victims. I saw their death days and I killed them on that day. So I didn’t really kill them.” Beyond Birthday ate a second heaping handful. L silently removed another jar and set it on the table.

L was quiet as Beyond Birthday ate. When he finished, L looked up at him, miserable sincerity in his eyes. “But, B. How do you know that the death days were right? Quarter Queen was a healthy 13-year-old girl, not an aging cancer patient.” He stood up, not waiting for Beyond Birthday to answer. “I’m sorry that this happened to you, B, but a murder is a murder.”

As he walked away, Beyond Birthday called out to him. “What day is it today?”

L answered just as, thousands of miles away, a pen hit paper. “January 21st, 2004.” And with that he was gone.

Forty seconds later, so was Beyond Birthday.

...

In Los Angeles, a serial killer kills every man who doesn’t kill himself. Who kills the serial killer?

Answer: Who said the serial killer couldn’t kill someone who killed themself?

Description
Beyond Birthday carefully studied his face in the grungy mirror. He didn’t know why the prison wardens bothered keeping the mirror in his cell; he’d told them he didn’t spend much time on his appearance. He supposed they hadn’t wanted to bother trying to unscrew the bolts that kept it securely in the wall, preventing prisoners from removing the mirror and using it as some kind of weapon. He sighed and scraped a bit of grime off of a bolt. They were probably rusted in anyways. He returned his gaze to the mirror.

Dead eyes stared back at him. Using a finger with a nail that was bitten down to the quick, he pulled his bottom eyelid away from his eyeball, revealing the pinkish underside. He cocked his head and tried to decide if the bags under his eyes were any darker than they’d been yesterday, but could only ascertain that they were darker than they’d been before Naomi Misora came along. Before prison. Had they been but a deep gray then, not really black? So few things were truly black in this world. Human pupils were very close to true black, but Beyond Birthday didn’t have pupils. His eyes were iris-less, pupil-less… Much like L’s, in fact. He was no longer proud of his resemblance to L—by underestimating Misora, he’d only proved that he wasn’t worthy of L. Beyond Birthday let his eyelid fall back into place, blinking as if he’d put in a contact. He ran a hand through his cropped black hair that stuck up at odd angles no matter how short it got. It was hard to get used to having it this length, but in a frenzy of self-hatred and rage, he’d cut it off with the blunt craft scissors that were all he was allowed in prison. He had been monitored even then, but no one had stopped him. No one had ever stopped him from doing anything until Misora came along. Death… the one thing Beyond Birthday had ever truly wanted, and the one thing he couldn’t get. Beyond Birthday let himself collapse onto the bed, but lying on his twisted back was uncomfortable, and he pulled himself up into his customary crouch, hugging his thin legs even tighter than usual.

His mouth was dry. He hadn’t had sugar since he’d arrived. The chef had laughed at him when he’d asked for jam and had shoveled protein slop on his tray. He’d heard of prisoners who had visitors, who brought them things like candy bars and playing cards… But who would visit Beyond Birthday? The only two people who really knew of his existence beyond the brief notice in the paper—“Serial Killer Captured, Sentenced to Life in Prison,” were Misora and L. Neither one probably devoted a thought to him since they’d put him away. It had been long years now… Five years? Fifteen? It could have only been a week. Beyond Birthday couldn’t measure days—his body clock had never functioned right. His insomnia didn’t allow him to sleep, so he couldn’t tell nights from days in the windowless, clock-less cell. If he saw a prisoner with a death date that read ‘June 18, 2006,’ he wouldn’t know if the prisoner would die tomorrow or three years from now. His whole purpose—his biggest asset, the eyes, were meaningless. Names meant nothing here. The eyes didn’t show you the inmate numbers. Just names… names from a different lifetime… Beyond Birthday was inmate number 1313… or was it 404? The numbers were hazy… numbers from a different lifetime… 13 was B. 1 + 3 was 4… 4 victims. Or was it 3? The guards refused to give him a calendar. He didn’t know why. After they’d refused to give him the puzzle book that he’d carried around for years, he’d stopped asking. He’d memorized most of the puzzles in there, anyways. Only one still evaded him…

"In a small town in Switzerland, a barber shaves every man in town who doesn’t shave himself. Who shaves the barber?"

There had been a comment by it that said “Don’t worry if you can’t solve it. This is an impossible puzzle. Just messing with you. –editor.” Beyond Birthday didn’t believe it. Every puzzle had an answer—there was no such thing as an impossible puzzle. Maybe unsolvable, but never impossible. There was always an answer, even if you couldn’t find it. Beyond Birthday knew this, and so he’d torn out and discarded the answer sheet in the puzzle book as soon as he’d bought it. He knew there was an answer, so why else should he have to look? Life didn’t have an answer sheet, or Beyond Birthday wouldn’t be in this mess. Wammy’s House would never have had to be built, and Beyond Birthday would probably be living a normal life… perhaps he would have been adopted by a painter or a physical therapist.

Beyond Birthday closed his eyes, meditating. His brain needed the rest, and although his extreme insomnia wouldn’t allow him to sleep, meditation helped.

Maybe the barber is a woman and doesn’t shave…

----------------------------------------

“This him?” a guard pointed his thumb towards a strangely familiar man who sat with his knees up on a chair, much like Beyond Birthday did.

“Who?” Beyond Birthday was confused. They’d told him he had a visitor… or had he dreamed that? Could you dream if you didn’t sleep? Didn’t they call that daydreaming? But was it day right now or night? And, most importantly, where had he seen this face before? Through a window, he thought. A window in a wall… or a mirror? His thoughts slipped away like wet soap on a bathtub floor. Fingers reach for it, but it always skids away as if pulled by a string. Tantalizing, close… Like sand through a sieve. Like sugar through a sieve, coffee through a filter… Coffee. Sugar. Mud. Naomi Misora said it was poison.

He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, what?”

The guard spoke irritatingly slowly, as if speaking to a mentally disabled child. “This man. Is he your brother?”

“I… I don’t know. No. I don’t know him.”

“What are you talking about, brother? You know me all too well,” the man said, and laughed. Beyond Birthday liked the laugh. He recorded it mentally, planning to practice it later.

Beyond Birthday squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t have a brother. I’m an orphan. I…” he stopped. He’d said too much. Beyond Birthday, Rue Ryuzaki wasn’t an orphan. B was the orphan. L might know about him being B, but no one else did. Did they? He felt like he was on the edge, treading water… walking around in quicksand, in circles, creating a whirlpool like little children in a kiddy pool. Always back to the beginning, no end. No sleep, no death, no end in sight. Just around and around and around and around—

“Brother! Can you hear me?” The man was speaking, but Beyond Birthday couldn’t see his face. His eyelids were too heavy... like curtains. “Curtains” meant “The End.” No end… circles…

“I don’t know you. I’m not your brother,” he said without opening his eyes. Maybe when he opened them it would all be gone, like a bad dream. It would be back before August 22nd, and he would revise his plan to make sure Misora didn’t find out. She couldn’t find out… he should have killed himself another way. Hung himself, slit his wrists while covered in gasoline. In his last moments, he could flick a lighter and burn his corpse. L had solved an unsolvable case, so why couldn’t Beyond Birthday? Why did the solution elude him? Was the barber a woman or a man?

The man was shaking him, and the guards were letting him. Why were they letting him? Visitors weren’t supposed to touch the prisoners.

“Rue, cut it out! You know me, I’m your brother! Elliot!”

The man was sure making a show. It was overly dramatic, like he was acting. Acting well, but still acting. Elliot. L ee ot. L!

Beyond Birthday’s eyes flew open. “EL-liot?” he asked, intentionally putting emphasis on the first syllable. That was why this man looked familiar. Why he looked like the spitting image of Beyond Birthday and could pass as his brother.

L sighed with relief. “Yes, Elliot Ryuzaki. Your brother. I’ve come to visit you, Rue.” He nodded, almost imperceptibly, to let Beyond Birthday know his inference had been correct.

Beyond Birthday was ecstatic. L had come to see him! But then he remembered that L thought Beyond Birthday was a criminal who had done terrible things. L must just be here to interrogate him. Beyond Birthday didn’t have anything to confess to—he’d been put away for life, wasn’t that enough for L? Or maybe L thought he deserved the death sentence.

A second, more horrible thought crossed his mind. What if L knew that Beyond Birthday had lost the will to live and realized that Beyond Birthday wasn’t only dedicated to making an impossible case, but actually wanted to end his life? L might be here on because he felt bad for Beyond Birthday, or because he knew Beyond Birthday was B and thought B’s depression was partly his fault after Wammy’s House.

“I don’t need your pity,” Beyond Birthday spat.

“What?”

“I don’t need this, EEEELLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLiot, so why don’t you just go back to your work. I know you’re terribly busy serving justice to sinners like me.” Beyond Birthday whirled on his heel, intending to leave for his cell, but he instead found arms that had been shaking him moments ago locked around him in an embrace.

“Guards!” Beyond Birthday yelled, but once again the useless thugs did nothing. The idiots were there to watch the inmates, not the visitors.

“I know your secret, B,” L whispered in his ear.

Beyond Birthday stopped struggling.

“I was visiting Wammy’s House to look into talking to the man who runs things when Watari isn’t around about who deserves to succeed me. Kira’s out to get me, you see, and although I don’t think he knows my name yet, I’ve definitely got to be careful.” L paused, realizing that Beyond Birthday had no idea what that meant. He shook his head, dismissing it as unimportant, and continued. “So, while I was there, I ran into an old friend of yours. C, I thinks she’s called.”

Chrysanthemum Carnival. Beyond Birthday smiled at the mention of his childhood confidant.

“She saw me, and ran over, and then apologized, she’d thought I was you. I told her about you being imprisoned—I didn’t say why, and she started crying and talking about when she first met you. Said you knew her name without being asked. She speculated that you might have heard it from one of the teachers. She didn’t seem to think much of it, but I did. I went back and checked through all the school records. You might have known she was C, but the school has no record of her as Chrysanthemum Carnival. How did you know?”

Bluntly, Beyond Birthday said, “I can see people’s names and life spans just by seeing their face.”

L breathed in sharply, but appeared to believe him. “Does anyone else have this power?”

“Not as far as I know.”

L looked pensive. “If Kira had your power… if Kira’s who I think he is…” He shuddered. “Thank God he doesn’t.”

“Kira?” Beyond Birthday asked. It was the second time L had mentioned that name, and Beyond Birthday didn’t know who it was.

L shook his head. “Never mind. What really happened in the Los Angeles BB Murder Cases?”

Beyond Birthday laughed, a soft ‘Heh heh’ that was much more natural than the abnormal giggles he normally used. A quiet chuckle was appropriate for the situation, and he didn’t need to draw any more attention to them than what they were being given simply for the fact that they’d been hugging and whispering to each other for ten minutes straight. (He wondered, in fact, why no one had stopped them yet—it was extremely suspicious. But then again, all the guards were utterly incompetent.) But I digress. Beyond Birthday laughed. “Is that what they’re calling the case now? I rather like it. Although I always hoped it would have been called the Unsolvable Case, I suppose that name no longer fits.”

“B. Stay focused. What really happened?”

Beyond Birthday’s mind wouldn’t stay in one place. “I can’t focus, L. Ever since I’ve been in this place, I’ve been slipping. My reasoning ability is 43% less than what it used to be.”

“Here. Maybe this will help.” L reached into a paper bag that was lying on the table, letting go of Beyond Birthday in the process. Beyond Birthday felt naked without L’s arms around him.

L produced a jar of strawberry jam. How had he known what Beyond Birthday’s favorite flavor was? How had he known that Beyond Birthday liked jam? Did Misora tell him? Did C? Why would either of them think it was important?

L smiled and handed the jar to Beyond Birthday, saying, “When I need to think, I eat sweets. I rarely eat anything but during investigations.” His teeth closed on the tip of his ring finger, carefully severing a hangnail. “Do you like jam?”

Unscrewing the cap and shoveling jam into his mouth, Beyond Birthday swallowed before speaking. “I killed people on their death day.”

“Huh?”

“My victims. I saw their death days and I killed them on that day. So I didn’t really kill them.” Beyond Birthday ate a second heaping handful. L silently removed another jar and set it on the table.

L was quiet as Beyond Birthday ate. When he finished, L looked up at him, miserable sincerity in his eyes. “But, B. How do you know that the death days were right? Quarter Queen was a healthy 13-year-old girl, not an aging cancer patient.” He stood up, not waiting for Beyond Birthday to answer. “I’m sorry that this happened to you, B, but a murder is a murder.”

As he walked away, Beyond Birthday called out to him. “What day is it today?”

L answered just as, thousands of miles away, a pen hit paper. “January 21st, 2004.” And with that he was gone.

Forty seconds later, so was Beyond Birthday.

...

In Los Angeles, a serial killer kills every man who doesn’t kill himself. Who kills the serial killer?

Answer: Who said the serial killer couldn’t kill someone who killed themself?