Good thing I spiked the teabags and the coffee mixture. Honestly, what am I like?

Dr. Light will be out like a well, like a light.

Mum however... there's no guarantee. I'll have to wait and see what happens, see if she takes a cup of tea to bed. Still, if I'm honest, being a spectator is beginning to lose its perks.

I can't believe the other me just sat there while he talked up a storm of lies. They might not be lies, but I'm not exactly inclined to believe him either. It's that look, I can't get it out of my head. No. Like hell he knows what we've been through. She doesn't know what we've been through. I, also, am struggling to remember. What a pair.

It's as if we're one of those fake reality shows, slapped-together by a bunch of half-drunk writers who've missed out our backstory.

Swiftly, I swing off the sofa, slotting the book onto the shelf. She's folded the pages – another thing to hate about her.

Tuning in to the noise from the kitchen, a smile locks onto to my face.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" Dr. Light says to Mother. I strain to hear her reply.

"Oh, yes please. Thank you". If he makes it, suspicion won't come knocking. It's like having my own personal minion, but without the constant idiocy and slapstick. Actually, it is just like having my own personal minion.

The drugs won't knock them out for another half an hour, but I decide to initiate the start of the bedtime train. To avert suspicion if nothing else. Here goes.

Stepping out of the living room resembles the sensation of standing on a roof of an abyss, waiting to jump. Adrenaline swirls across my back, sends a chill through me. Oblivion, here I come.

Mum exits the kitchen straight after, cradling a steaming mug of tea. Her brown hair hangs limp, testament to a stressful day. She should try being me every once in a while.

"Night Mum," I call out, using our throat. I wonder if even she's even noticed that I've taken over.

"Are you going to bed? I suppose it is quite late and you've had a long day. Wait, I'll walk up with you. I'm tired too," she says. We meet at the foot of the stairs, where I clutch my hands to my body, acting as my dress of naivety.

"I hope Doctor Steele is okay," I mumble. I can't believe they haven't bothered to check the dumpster. I thought they would have found him by now. It is where he belongs after all.

Mum reaches up to pat me on the head, causing heat to rise. If she touches me like that again, I'm afraid there's no telling what I'll do. I'm sick, so sick of being treated like a child or a pet. I am not a china doll that falls victim to a breeze.

I am not a possession.

"I'm sure they'll find him. He'll be okay".

Somehow, I doubt that.

We continue to climb the stairs in silence, with Mum peering at me every so often as to check if I'm real. Every time she looks my way, I force my legs to shake and I fake a stumble on the top step. I don't have to act really – I'm already weak at the knees.

Mum doesn't even reach out to steady me, so I'm reduced to crawling up with the banister.

Finally, we reach the top. Pretending to be out of breath, I brace myself on the nearby bookcase.

"Goodnight," Mum breathes.

I don't expect her to, but she pulls me into a hug. It must be so difficult, to be confronted by a shell of a daughter instead of a laughing bouncy Queen Bee with five dates to the prom. I'm sure it's a nightmare, being on the outside.

She should be grateful she still has a daughter to hold. As I am somewhat grateful for her.

"Night Mum," I say, but the by the time I find I can speak, she's long gone.

It's too late now for cold feet. I have things to do tonight.

Turning away from the landing seems to take forever and I need to wait for Light to fall asleep.

Hopefully, he'll go to bed before the drugs take hold, otherwise he might suspect what I'm doing. Who I am kidding? He's got a button for a brain, I'll be fine. So much for his Harvard degree.

Opening the door to my bedroom – the bedroom, the bedroom – I dig around in the top drawer for my Mp3 Player. Ah, here it is. Fun times wait for no one.

Plugging in leaves me with a grin and an itch in my legs, but instead I wait around, kicking my feet at the ceiling for a good hour until I can't hear anymore movement from outside.

I guess they're asleep and if not, I'll just have to spend more time honing my acting skills.

Slipping out of bed, I open the door, scanning the landing for any signs of life.

It takes every ounce of common sense in my body not to act out the moon landing on the floorboards. Shame, I don't have common sense. The next few minutes are spent acting out an overly dramatic rendition of the moon landing. One giant leap for a personality. Who really needs to get some work done.

I suppose I can't blame myself for wanting to have fun, while it lasts anyway.

Outside the bedroom, dust cleaves through the air, settling on the bookshelves as if parking at a drive thru. There's nothing else to do except walk across the landing. Nothing happens. No Mum hiding behind a potted plant waiting to give me more drugged water, no Doc' sitting stoically at a table. There's only me.

And that knowledge feels oh so good.

This time, I am the one with the power. Now, where did I put that C4?

Seriously, it's been three years. I can't remember.

The drugs will keep Light and Co. unaware of my activities, that is if I can actually find the materials.

Mum's room has been cleared out – there's nothing left. I didn't hide anything downstairs, not that I can remember anyway. Looks like Dr. Light's room is the only option.

Since the house is so big, it's bound to have a few spare rooms, but I imagine they'll be locked. I'm not in the mood to get caught tonight.

No, tonight, I'm remodelling. I need a second hidey-hole.

Somewhere to stash the evidence that I will present to the police as soon as I have the chance.

I was originally going to build my first one the basement, so that is where my second one shall be. It's a little cliché, but I can't afford to be choosy.

Time to pay the sleeping Doc' a visit. It's tempting, oh so tempting, to end him right here, right now. But I can't. There's something about him I struggle to erase. It is as if I can really see him. He's a thin oil painting, one that's starting to crack.

I can't wait to see what happens when he does.

Striding across the landing to his room takes a lot out of me, forcing me to stop for a breather in the doorway. This is getting ridiculous. I leave the other one in charge and our body is more of mess than it was before the coma.

Light's room is a picture of calm, all the furniture poised. Every surface is bereft of personal possessions. No surprise there.

His bedside table is clear apart from a small pile of blue dust. It's like a solidified ocean, clumped together on the tabletop. I stick my finger in it, lift it up to the window. Pill residue. No way.

Is my Doc' a druggie? Cool.

Bending down, I start to rummage around in his drawers, smiling when I find the bottle of blue pills. There are no labels, so there's no telling what he's been taking. Maybe they're stress related, after all making ex-coma patients cry must be a tough job.

Smiling, I take the bottle to his ensuite and pour the contents down the toilet. All except one. I'm not that mean.

After putting the bottle back in the drawer, I begin the hunt for the C4. The cables are either in the study at the far end of the landing or already in the basement. Like I said before, I wasn't in the best state of mind.

First, I pry open the floorboards. Geez.

One shovel and three sets of cables complete with crocodile clips. Floorboards were the easiest place to stash supplies and back then I was in a rush.

The C4 will either be in the walls or the ceiling.

Pulling the chest of drawers away from the wall, I start to rap my knuckles on the wood. Nothing. Nothing. Ah. There.

The wood is ever so slightly hollow, deepening the sound. It isn't completely hollow as that would give the game away, but it's hollow enough.

To be honest, I can't remember where in the hell I got the C4 from in the first place. The only thing that seems plausible is that I didn't pay for it. Knowing my track record, I probably didn't.

Opening the wall panel takes less than ten seconds.

Inside is a small brown package, with the consistency of dried mud.

Carefully – it is an explosive after all – I lift it from the wall.

Placing the C4 next to the cables, I silently replace the wall panel, being careful not to wakey, wakey the Doc'. Usually, I'd be a tad more carefree, but there's no telling how those blue pills have affected the sedative.

Pausing, I turn to face his sleeping form. I am used to hesitating, but not like this. Not, not thinking. Thinking that perhaps he isn't a threat. But he is. He's got to go. Forcibly if necessary.

Before long, I'm slinging the cables over my shoulders, while pocketing the detonator for the C4. Note to self: blowing things up in pyjamas is not the best idea. I would have changed, but the other me has terrible taste in clothes. Seriously, I've seen mummified corpses dressed better than that.

A memory hits – a museum. We were – I was – eight. I think. I remember, I remember it all. Mum. Where was she?

Shaking my head, I pick up the shovel. Move to the door.

Light's hair refracts off the moon like a beacon. He's practically begging me to... To what? However much I try to reason with myself, I come up with the same answer. I don't want to kill him. I'm not sure why, but I don't. It's more than that. I feel that I don't need to.

With a sigh, I walk away. Anything is better than standing here, staring at his helpless body, unsure of what to do. I'm not used to being unsure. I don't like it. It's as if I'm trapped in a room with four doors, four unlocked doors, but I don't know which one to choose.

Again, I shake away the feeling.

The basement door lies just past the staircase, near the closet. It sits across from the long oak panels, etched a cloud into the alcove behind the stairs. No paintings hang on the walls, no photographs on the bookcases.

It's as if nobody lives here at all.

Keeping to the darkness of the walls, I climb over the banister, dropping swiftly to the floor.

It's a door crafted from mahogany, much like the rest of the house. To my surprise, it isn't locked.

I'm greeted by some pretty gross stairs, covered in dead bugs. I'm actually digging this satire gothic look. All it needs is a skull in the far corner, next to the washing machine.

The ground is a throaty grey, blessed by a wide selection of cobwebs. I always wanted a pet spider, preferably to stroke while I spin in my big black Mastermind chair. I'll write that on my shopping list while I'm at it: buy a huge evil Mastermind chair. To spin in. Spinning is crucial.

I realise I'm stalling, though I can't think why.

This is my plan; this is my purpose. To take back my life, to rediscover my past and then erase it.

I can't make peace with something I know nothing about.

Attaching the cables using the crocodile clips is a tricky business, but I manage. Next, I have to decide where I want the entrance. There's not much in here to work with. Only a washing machine, a few boxes and...an old couch with half a grotty bedsheet slung over it. That'll have to do.

It's not the bonsai covered, white-picket fence look I was going for, but I can't have everything.

I place my supplies on the stone floor, then shove the couch away from the wall.

No residue, no evidence.

Hopefully, at least. It's a little difficult to conceal an explosion.

Quickly, I attach the C4 to the wall, placing the detonator in my hand. I've got about ten seconds before it goes off when I click the black button on the box. I'm

totally not wishing it's red or anything. I've always wanted to push a great big red button. I wrestle the couch to the far end of the basement, gripping the shovel in my free hand. I won't have to do much digging in this case. The design of the house does a lot of the work for me, so I might even end up with a Batcave. Yippee. After aligning the boxes, I skip – almost merrily – to the basement door, shutting it behind me.

Maybe it was a mistake – not killing Light. If those pills mess up the sedative, he might wake up. How will I explain this? Stress relief? Hardcore therapy? Ideally, I won't have to.

Without a second thought, I press the button and blow it all to hell.