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Rule 3: If the cause of death is written within 4 seconds of writing the person's name, it will happen

Rule 4: If the cause of death is not specified, the person will simply die of a heart attack

Rule 5: After writing the cause of death, details of the death should be written in the next 6 minutes and 40 seconds.

Interesting. Light was a little more convinced of the Note's authenticity. Whether it's real or not, it was interesting knowing he had the option of choosing how someone would die. Would that make him some sort of puppet master? I thought only God controls the mannerisms of people's lives...

Light smacked himself. He didn't believe in God, obviously, otherwise He'd get him the hell out of this house.

There was pounding of feet coming down the hall. Light stuffed the book under his covers and yanked his textbook off the ground onto his lap. Father barged in without knocking, like he did all the time. "I'm going out," he grumbled. "Don't go anywhere." Father's eyes narrowed, a hint of a growl exhaling with his breath.

Light nodded, keeping his fingers gripped on the pen he was holding as his paws shook in fear. Father simply turned on his heel and slammed the door shut. That was a close one. Whenever Father said, "I'm going out", he usually means "I'm going to get drunk at the bar again with my buddies to the point of not being able to drive". Light was surprised that old man has never gotten a DUI. But it did mean he had the place to himself for a while.

He reached back under the covers and dug out the book.

There was only one way to prove to himself that it was real.

Light crept out into the hallway, the book tucked under his shirt in case his dad never left yet. Luckily, there was a lack of older cheetah in the apartment. Light turned on the TV, flipping to the news. In case the Note was real, Light did not want to kill off just anybody. He wanted to get someone that people would be less likely to get mad at over.

On the screen was what looked to be a bird's eye view of the elementary school and a few circles pointed towards a certain area in the building. Light turned up the volume. "Police are still trying to find a way to safely remove the students and faculty inside," a female reporter said. "But they have confirmed the identity of the shooter to be August C. Morgan, whom was expelled earlier this semester."

A picture of a black wolf with a grouchy look and a huge scar over his cheek flashed onto the screen. He looks old enough to be twenty years old. Was he held back too? Light thought.

Perfect time to test the Note.

Light, without thinking twice about it, scrawled out the name and a cause of death: "August C. Morgan -- after allowing the hostages go, he turns the gun on himself fatally". The cheetah looked back up on the television screen. The clock seemed to tick slower than usual as coverage of the school continued. Light sat in the recliner, paws fidgeting in his lap.

A minute passed.

Two.

After three minutes, Light was convinced that the Note wasn't real after all. Still, he clutched the book in his paw as he went to grab something to eat. "I knew it was fake," he muttered to himself, taking the bread out to make a sandwich.

He stood at the counter as he ate. When he finished, Light went to turn the TV back to the channel it was on, so Father wouldn't suspect anything. As he grabbed the remote, the news anchors looked shocked and flustered. "What's that?" the female was saying. "Okay. We have breaking news. Apparently, the students from the school hostage situation have been released." She said the last word as if she couldn't believe it.

Light couldn't either.

The picture cut to a view at the front of the school. Dozens of little children were running away from the front doors into the paws of the policemen outside or their parents. A few members of the SWAT Team charged inside. A couple nearby paramedics raced into action as well, checking to make sure no kid was harmed.

Light paced around the room. No way this was really happening. This all must be a coincidence. Right? He turned up the volume as if he couldn't hear. The same female said, "The kids have been released safely, and from what the police could tell us, nobody was harmed." Light's heart warmed up a little. He was glad the kids were okay, but where was the scary, thug-looking wolf. "What was that? Okay, I'm just receiving news that August Morgan was found dead in one of the classrooms. It appears that Morgan committed suicide after he released the kids."

Light shut off the TV.

The kids were let go. "After allowing the hostages go..."

The suspect was found dead. "...he turns the gun on himself fatally."

Light's word flashed before his eyes even with the book shut. The Note wasn't a joke, it was completely genuine. He didn't kill himself, he thought.

I did.

His heart thudded in his chest. He just killed a man; one of the worst crimes you could commit. He wouldn't get caught, right? There was no way to trace it back to him, right? Stop, he scolded himself. You're not going to get busted. The news said August killed himself. There's no way you could be involved in this.

Plus, August Morgan was a bad guy; a criminal. One of those bastards who make the world miserable for others. Why would Light feel bad for him? Nobody had any idea how miserable Light was in this household; too scared to come out of his own room just to use the restroom because of Father. People like Morgan should have gotten exactly what he deserved a long time ago.

Except now he did...

Light blinked and stared down at the Note. If this could work on just anybody...

No, he told himself. It was wrong; all of this was wrong. And Light wasn't a bad guy. He would make a terrible bully that steals other kid's lunch money or an awful cold-blooded killer. It wasn't in his blood to be bad. So why did it feel good?

A thunder rumbled from outside.

He looked down at the Note and saw only one thing. The first time Father ever put his hands on him. He was only eleven at the time. His mother had been gone for over a week. At that point, Light gave up hope that Mother was ever going to come home. That night, Father trailed him up the stairs into their apartment after closing the shop. As soon as their front door was closed, Light did not see the blow coming at all. All he remembered was a jagged pain in his head, thinking his head was going to crack open like an egg.

The menacing look Father gave him was full of rage, fury. "Why would she ever leave me with a soul-sucking runt like you?" he growled. Light scrambled to his feet and ran into his room. At the time, he thought that was it. Father just needed the one hit and it would all be behind them in the matter of days.

But it never stopped. Day after day, Father raised his voice. Week after week, a new scar would show on Light's body somewhere as a result of Father's belt. There was a slight notch near the middle of the belt that sticks out, so every now and then, it would cut open Light's skin just under his fur. Light felt hopeless going into high school. He didn't talk to anyone. He became an outcast; too afraid to trust anybody. If anyone were to get to close, they would see the truth, then Light would get sent away. Father told him so.

Father is a bad guy.

Light flipped open the Note to the page he was just on. August's name still sits there. The pages of the Note seemed to call to him, begging him to place another name down. To give in to the power the book possesses.

Light clicked open his pen, not planning on doing anything. It would be so easy. The instructions said all you would need is the name and the face. And Light knew Father's real name. In just two seconds, he could go from being under his abusing paws to a life of freedom, wherever that may be. Oh, how it was tempting.

But Light considered what would happen as a result. He spent the next couple hours contemplating whether to put Father's name down. He tried to listen to music to drown out the thoughts. Tried to bury the book under his bed. I can't do it. Even if he is an evil, horrible old man, he's my dad. I can't afford to have both parents gone.

The Note still wouldn't let him go. 8pm rolls around. Father still wasn't back yet. Light was secretly hoping that Father would not come back at all. That way, he wouldn't have to use the Note. Just a few more minutes, he told himself. If Father doesn't come back in the next few minutes, I'll do it. Did that seem reasonable? It must have, given that Father sometimes comes home around this time every time he "goes out".

8:05.

8:07.

8:08. Light was freaking out. Both ends of his conscience tugging on his mind whether or not to write his name down. Do it. Without your Father, you could give yourself a better life. Things like this only happen once in a lifetime. Are you really wanting to give that up?

Don't do it. Killing August was one thing; it was to save those children. This would be completely selfish. You are much better than this.

Light flipped through the black pages, thinking there was some way to get out of this. He read the first few rules again. The cause of death can be specified, like he can control the lives of those around him. But the rules did not say anything about not making a death contingent on a certain event happening.

Light grabbed his pen, wrote furiously on the page then slammed the book shut, clutching the Note to his chest as he turned the light off.

Please let this not be a mistake.

***

Nate McAlister stumbled out of the bar, his stomach full and his brain completely fuzzy. Where did I park again? He recalled driving a red car near the back of the lot. The world tilted when he took the step off the sidewalk into the lot. He braced himself on the hoods of other cars on the way across the lot.

Where did I put my keys? He reached into his pockets and heard the familiar jingle of keys. He took them out where it took seven tries to get it in the lock to open his car.

His head pounded, like thunder inside of his brain. Nate held himself upright using the steering wheel as he pushed the keys into the ignition. That damned son of mine better be home when I get there or else I'll kill him myself.

A bright flash of light came from his left. A huge semi was barreling around the curve. Nate swore that he knew who drove said semi, but the name wasn't coming to him. His brain didn't process how the truck was speeding around the turn and tipped, plowing into the parking lot directly towards him.

Nate's last words were, "Fucking trucks."