Play Detective

A Man

Mr. Wammy had sent Oliver, a chauffeur of a sort for orphanage businesses such as pick up and drop off for student activities or pre-arranged pickups from other orphanages, to the Leigh House.

"Be sure not to be late-"

"Mr. Wammy, sir, I assure you, I'll be there exactly when I need to be, probably sooner."

He was a white-haired, balding man with thick, round bifocals, and a very practical manner of speaking.

"Alright, please... be careful."

L had been gone for longer than expected, for eleven weeks compared to what they expected would be around eight. No word had come since the first week of him requesting a visit from anyone, nor did his therapist need to talk to his caretakers since then. It was a relief masking worry.

When Oliver arrived, the nurse nodded sweetly and readily called the... man out from the other room.

L was indeed ready, he had been planning this for a few days, and been given a pair of jeans to wear to seem more presentable to the public. The summer had faded away into the autumnal chill, and they also sent him out with long sleeves. With his black duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, he met the chauffeur and they rode home in comfortable silence. Nothing had changed from the route they had gone, but everything was clearly defined in the daylight. He waited for the discomfort that may come- he did look out at the same street from the ambulance, but felt nothing.

Oliver pulled up front to the step, and exited the car before letting L out. Mr. Wammy had walked out to meet them.

Oliver handed over the manilla folder and the orange bottle of small pills.

"How... how was he?"

"Very quiet, as usual. These are some Thorazine... kinda strong for him, in my opinion, but doctor's orders. Nothing much happened, the nurse told me he was well-behaved and ready to go home. She asked for you to call her about it so you can ask, and the number is in there."

"Thank you."

Nodding, Oliver turned and opened the door, and L got out promptly, bag in hand.

Quillish was stunned. He had matured physically over the stay, and his face held a new severity. Along with pallid skin, and essentially bruised eyes, he was waifish and listless in his clothes. He had grown, also. Truthfully, he looked as if he belonged back in the insititution.

He stood there silently and still, waiting to be commanded or asked of something. This took a short while to realize as the older men exhanged concerned glances.

"Why... Why don't we head inside?"