Greenlake, TX
On the side of Highway 40 nearing Austin, a gas station sits between an all night diner and a small bookstore. It is a Gas 'N Go, the logo of a handyman stick figure in mid-run revolving by the roadside. It has a rustic feel even though the few cars in the parking lot seem to represent just how out of touch it is. A gust of wind looks like a wave of rolling tumbleweed, but it passes too quickly to really tell. Moderately busy, it's a place to stop-and-go before heading out towards either downtown Austin or the outskirts of Houston. Though quiet and serene, it doesn't last long.
A rock and roll riff loudly enters as a red, slightly scratched convertible with a large dent in the front-right side pulls up. It calls attention to itself as do those riding in it. The driver, wearing a gray T-shirt, wrinkled jeans and sunglasses, looks around before pulling up to a spot in front of the convenience store. He has short black hair that spikes up casually and that he can't stop running a hand through. He grins over at the passenger who sits slumped in his seat, wearing a dark blue long-sleeved shirt, red jacket, and black pants. The blonde-haired, green-eyed man glances over at the driver, but turns away, unimpressed.
"We're here," says the driver. When the passenger doesn't respond, he flicks him on the ear. "I'm talkin' to you, stupid!"
"Quit it, Jay…" The passenger brushes the flick off.
"Hey." The passenger doesn't respond. "Hey!" Jay backhands him in the arm and the passenger looks over at him. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," he says with a shrug.
"If you're not up to it, it's alright. We can pull out and you –"
"I'm fine, Jay!" He gives Jay a look that seals his agreement.
"Okay, okay. Just checking." Jay grins. "You don't have to throw it at me." The passenger can't help but smile. "Now, if you don't mind, I'll be right back." The passenger nods and slumps a little more in his seat. Jay shakes his head and exits the car, going into the convenience store.
Inside, a few people are in line while another few are browsing the shelves. Jay scans the room briefly before picking up a Mountain Dew, bag of chips, and some Skittles. He joins the line and pays for his snacks, giving the cashier a small smile. The cashier, a big burly man with a thick mustache and beady blue eyes, doesn't return it as he gives him change.
Jay jumps back in the car, setting his Mountain Dew in the cup holder and tossing the other snacks into the back. He takes a deep breath and turns to the passenger.
"It's going to empty out pretty soon, so I'd say do it then." He speaks in a low, but audible tone. The passenger listens intently. "There's a security camera on the doorway, but it doesn't look like it covers much else. The guy at the register is big, but dumb. A shot to the ceiling should cover that."
"Anything else I need to know? Like how to act mean and tough?" The passenger gives him a smirk.
"Shut up, Billy." Jay makes a swipe at him, but Billy's already out of the car and rounding the front. "I get it. It's not your first time. Still, doesn't mean you should get sloppy."
"Like the Bolton service station?"
"Don't even bring that up, man." Jay cringes and his grin falters. "Just get it done and get it done quick."
"Quick is the least of my problems." They both laugh.
"I guess Billy Baker strikes again," Jay says and knocks fists with his best friend. He grins, starts up the car and pulls away. Billy watches as the convertible drives out of sight before entering the store. As the door closes behind him, words appear on the glass.
VOLUME THREE
Villians
Billy faces the floor as he enters, making sure the camera doesn't get a good look at him. He heads for the back of the store, where a TV hung on the wall above the drink refrigerators is playing the news. He eyes the Pepsis, sure to keep at least one trained on the cashier behind him. The last person in line was paying for their gas. He didn't have long to wait now.
The TV above him suddenly springs to life, sprouting BREAKING NEWS over and over on the bottom marquee.
"It seems that there is an important press conference being held live," the female anchor says with relish. "We take you now to the events in progress." The screen changes. An important looking man stands at a podium, flashes of cameras going off around him as he begins to speak.
"Good afternoon," he says, his voice labored. "Most of you have no idea who I am. My name is Nathan Petrelli and I was elected to Congress in the state of New York. It seems like that was a long time ago."
Billy tunes him out. Politics bored him and politicians talking about politics bored him even more. The bell to the front door rings. Billy turns to see the cashier picking at a scab on his hand. Now or never.
He reaches into his jacket pockets and grabs a mask and a gun. Pulling the mask on tightly, he takes a deep breath and points the gun at the ceiling.
BANG!
The scattered people in the store freeze immediately and head for the floor. Even the cashier stops what he is doing to stare fixedly at the weapon in Billy's hands.
"Everybody shut up and get on the ground!" Billy points the gun at the cashier. "Give me all the money in the register!"
The few people in the store follow his directions, but the cashier stays put. Billy walks directly up to him, the gun inches from his chest.
"Give… me… the money." Not angry, not scared. Cool as a cucumber.
"…No," the cashier says, a small quiver in his voice. Billy sighs exasperatedly. He cocks the gun and re-adjusts his aim toward the cashier's head.
"I'm going to give you to the count of three. 1…"
The cashier doesn't move.
"2…"
A mere flinch, but he still stays his ground.
BANG! BANG! Screams erupt from the television behind him. Billy turns his attention to the people on the screen. The congressman falls into the arms of one of the people who had been standing behind him. Chaos rules as the cameras flash to catch the dying man on film. And as soon as Billy realized what he'd just done, he felt foolish. He turns back around to find the cashier reaching for a shot gun under the counter. He does the only thing he can think of doing.
BANG! A shot goes whizzing over the cashier's head and into the shelf behind him. Magazines come crashing down over his head. Before he knows it, he hears the faint ching of his register closing and barely blinks his eyes before the door opens, the bell rings, and the man who had been standing in front of him is gone. What the heck just happened?
Meanwhile, on the open road a few miles away from the gas station, Billy kicked up dust behind him as he ran at super speed down the highway looking for the checkpoint in the blurry world around him. In a few seconds, the gas station was left far behind. By the time he had counted to ten he had almost reached the point where the convertible was parked on the side of the road ten miles away from where he'd been. Slowing, he skidded to a halt, raised more dust and stood next to the driver's side door where Jay sat waiting.
"You took long enough," he said in mild amusement as he looked up through the gathering dust. Billy was catching his breath and the dust didn't help.
"I only got what was in the register."
"That's it?" Jay frowned. "What about the safe?"
"Would have taken too long. The guy pulled a gun on me." Billy rounded the car, breathing heavily and coughing as he stepped inside.
"So, does this mean you didn't get my smokes?"
Billy rolled his eyes and handed a pack of Brandt brand cigarettes to Jay.
"That's what I'm talking about." He laughed and started up the car again. Billy smiled. Life in the fast lane… it was worth it.
Odessa, TX
Nathan, Peter, and Matt
BANG! BANG!
He slumped without meaning to. What was happening? What was this feeling of slowly falling backward? It was as though two bees had stung him in the chest and caused the world to move in slow motion. His mind had been dead-set on revealing his ability to the world at large, but someone else seemed to have other plans.
"Oh my God!"
"He's been shot!"
"Nathan Petrelli's been shot!"
He fell backward into someone's arms. His eyes blurry, he looked up to see his brother holding him.
Who are those we fear to lose?
"Nathan… Nathan!!"
"Peter…" Nathan barely could hear him, barely could see, barely could speak. "Peter, I…"
"Did you see him, Peter? I saw someone leaving! I know I saw someone leaving!" Matt's voice broke through the crowd of screams and flashing lights, but everything continued to swim before his eyes.
Are they our friends? Our family?
Suddenly, he was moving again, much faster and colors flew past his gaze.
"Move!" Peter's voice boomed much louder than usual as he pushed past a gaggle of shaken reporters. Nathan started to feel lighter, his head sagging.
"Peter… I can't…"
"No, you can! I know you can!" He pushed roughly through a pair of double doors and started down a hallway, moving farther and farther from the excited group in the press room.
The loss of a friend may cause the heart to slow, but the loss of a family member will cause our hearts to stop.
Along the wall as they pass, bold block letters appear on the hallway wall.
Chapter One
Parental Loss
"Hey, hold on!" Matt's footsteps clapped on the tiles as he ran to catch up. "Where are you going, Peter?"
"I have to get him to a hospital," Peter replied, still walking quickly.
"They've already called an ambulance. I'm sure they'll –" Peter stopped, Nathan shaking heavily in his arms.
"I can get him there quicker!" A moment's pause and Peter was off again with Matt on his tail. Farther and farther they moved from the group of reporters. Deeper and deeper, Nathan felt himself fall into an unmoving state. As they made their way through a second set of double doors, Nathan groaned sleepily, knowing he didn't have much left.
"…Peter…" His lips hardly moved as his consciousness slipped into complete darkness.
"Hang on, Nathan…" But the plea fell on deaf ears. "Just hang on…!"
New York City
Mohinder, Maya, Elle and Molly
He held her tightly, eyes tearing, like a bear to her cubs, like a father to his daughter. "Mohinder!" Molly exclaimed through the embrace, muffled and out of breath. "Mohinder, I can't breathe!" A slight giggle. He didn't care if she couldn't breathe. She was alive. That was all that mattered. Sylar had nearly killed them all and yet she was alive.
Maya smiled at them softly, her hands gently touching the spot where she had been shot less than an hour ago. Mohinder watched her glance down every few minutes as though the mark, which was long since gone, would never fade.
"Well, could you just do it already?!" From across the battered room, Elle paced back and forth with an electric glow in her eyes. She had been fighting to get a hold of her father, Bob, for twenty minutes now and it did seem peculiar that she could not get a hold of him. "This is his daughter. His daughter. I don't care if he's busy, this is important! …Well, could you at least – I just saved Dr. Suresh from Sylar, could you tell him that?!"
"Mohinder!" He eased off of the child in his embrace and smiled.
"Well, fine!" Elle shouted into the phone. "Just tell him… Tell him… Ugh!!" She shut the phone roughly.
"Is something wrong?" Maya asked. Elle huffed in place, glancing back over at the huddled group. She cleared her throat inaudibly and took a calming deep breath.
"It's fine," Elle said. Mohinder wasn't so sure by the way she fumbled one-handed to put the phone back into her jean pocket. "He's just busy. Always too busy."
Mohinder stood and walked toward her, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure he would come to the phone if he could." He may not have known Bob well, but surely he cared enough for his own daughter to realize when she needed his help. Then again, the look on Elle's face as she moved away from the hand on her shoulder looked more like a hint of sadness than content.
"What will happen to us now?" Maya stood up, brushing a long black curl back behind her ear.
"Well," Elle said, striding toward her, "I suppose the Company will take you into custody. Now that Sylar's on the loose again, we can't afford to have Dr. Suresh or Molly unprotected."
"And…" Maya hesitated. "And what about me?"
"…I don't know. It depends on…" Elle trailed off, thinking of a way to say it. Mohinder had a funny feeling she meant to say "what you can do for us," but he kept it to himself. "I'm sure my father will think of something. You're one of us, right? Someone special?"
Maya looked toward the floor. "No, I am not special. I am a curse."
"I can help you, Maya," Mohinder piped up. "With some time and the right facilities, anyone can turn their ability into a force for good." Maya smiled weakly.
"It's okay, Maya," Molly said, taking Maya by the hand. "Mohinder will help you."
As Maya takes a firmer grip of Molly's hand, Elle starts to stride across the room toward the way that Sylar exited.
"Wait, where are you going?"
"I'm going after Sylar," Elle said nonchalantly.
"You can't!" Mohinder exclaimed. "He may be at full strength again."
"I took him out an hour ago, how hard could it be to finish him off?"
"He took a case of regenerative blood with him. Claire Bennet's blood."
"Then, it's about time I took it back." And without another word, Elle walked out of the back door to the loft, following the trail Sylar had left.
"Is she going to be okay, Mohinder?" Molly had walked up with Maya, taking his hand with her empty one. Mohinder looked down at her, giving her hand a momentary squeeze, then over at Maya's hopeful face.
"I don't know, Molly. I don't know."
-x-
She scurried down the fire escape looking in each of the covered windows as she passed them. Elle knew it wasn't safe to be running like this with her arm in a sling, but caution was something she couldn't afford right now. All this trouble over one guy who, for all she knew, was slumping by a dumpster. Step after step she went, a hand held forward just in case an attack was launched. To think, she had the chance to capture Sylar. Surely that would make this important enough.
Surely it would make her important enough to her father.
She dropped down from the lowest fire escape with ease and stared around her. An alleyway with one entrance littered with trash and cans and scattered dumpsters. Her free hand shone electric blue as she peered toward the entrance for any sign of him.
A rustle behind her. She turned quickly, ready for the attack, but none came. Sneaking forward, she cautiously moved toward the noise. Footstep after silent footstep she walked. Anticipation quivered in her open outstretched palm. Closer and closer. Just around that dumpster and –
Something rolled forward and she zapped it clean against the brick wall. A cat went running, scared from the commotion. An empty can of spinach ricocheted off the wall with a clunk and clatter. She sighed heavily.
"Great. I look for Sylar and I find Popeye the lunatic cat."
SMACK!
She turns again, alert. A dumpster lid had slammed shut. At the street-side end of the alley, a figure whipped around the corner and out of sight. She ran to catch up to whatever it was, but she knew it was too late. Standing at the entrance to the alley, she looked out at the crowded street. Every face and back-of-the-head looked the same. If Sylar had been down that alley moments ago, he was gone now.
But this wouldn't be the last time. Not if she had anything to do with it. An electric fire began to burn in her heart as she returned down the alley. If it was the last thing she ever did, she would catch Sylar.
Courier General Hospital
Houston, TX
Peter and Nathan Petrelli
He sat in the corner of the small room, hands folded, shoulders slumped, eyes never leaving the hospital bed in front of him. His eyes were puffy, unblinking. The room was cold and the fluorescent lights left a pale glow on the edges of the room. The lights made him look like an angel preparing to ascend to heaven.
He was an angel. His brother, the angel. An angel with his wings clipped.
The door opened quickly. "Good heavens…" the first woman gasped. The group stopped at the door, shaken from the very sight.
"Nathan," the second woman whispered, leading two young boys into the room behind her. Peter stood up and watched them cross slowly to both sides of the bed. The Petrelli family was together again.
"Oh, Nathan…" Angela caressed his head gently with a white-gloved hand. "Why, Nathan? Why did it have to be you?" Peter always knew that Nathan was her favorite.
"Peter," Heidi spoke, looking his way. Her eyes were about as puffy as his, more-so as she was still crying. He hugged her. "Thank you for calling us, Peter."
"No problem," he said, half-smiling.
"How is he?"
"The doctors got the bullets out, but they said the internal bleeding may have been too much for him to bear. They're seeing how he does until then, I guess."
"How could this have happened?" Heidi said, her gaze back on Nathan. "He wasn't even a candidate anymore. Who could have done this? What kind of a person would do this?" She turned back to Peter, hopeful for some kind of answer.
"I don't know," Peter said sincerely. He looked over at his mother once again. She had taken off her gloves and was running a hand down his face. The boys were too afraid to go near him, standing behind their grandmother with eyes wide. "I only wish she could be here."
"She?" Heidi asked, puzzled.
"Some girlfriend of Peter's, I suppose," Angela said quickly, eyes darting at Peter. He knew that she knew exactly what he meant.
"It's her right as…"
"Can I talk to you outside, Peter?" A slight tone of strictness in her voice, but she kept calm.
"Ma, I…"
"Outside." Not a request. "Please." Angela walked toward the room's door, averting her eyes from Heidi as she passed. Peter followed her out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Angela led him half-way down the hallway before stopping to give him a piercing stare.
"No," she finally said.
"She's his daughter."
"I said, no, Peter. She has no business here."
"Regenerative blood saved his life the first time, why can't she save him now?"
"Lower your voice." People passed them by, but the sense of caution in her voice made him begin to whisper.
"She deserves to know."
"And she will. But I refuse to let her into that room." She folded the gloves in her hands over and over again. "If she was seen, it would cause suspicion. Suspicion leads to detective work and detective work leads to scandal. Think of your brother's position."
"His position?" A whisper would no longer work. "He's dying, Ma!"
"Keep your voice down!"
"He's dying and you're worried about his position? Were you the one who had to carry him in here? Both times? No, I think you're more worried about your position than his!"
She grabbed his hand and pulled Peter towards her, eyes made of steel, voice at an intense whisper. "My son is dying and all you can think about is a miscreant girl who would only cause trouble. For once in your life, Peter, think of your family first!" Peter pulled away from her grasp roughly.
"I am thinking of my family. All of it. She has every right to be here and you know it!" She glanced away like she always did. "And Nathan wasn't your only son. You had me, too." Frustrated, he shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair before giving her an icy glare of his own. "I'm here, too, Ma."
Peter turned away from her, heading back over toward the door to Nathan's room.
"Don't do anything foolish, Peter." He paused momentarily, not turning to meet her gaze. Foolish, huh? He shrugged it off, but he knew in his heart that he couldn't tell Claire anything. Though angry and sad and rebellious, he couldn't do a damn thing. Re-entering the hospital room, he shuts the door roughly behind him.
Austin, TX
Billy Baker and James Silverton
He stared fixedly at the old television in front of him with the remote dangling from his outstretched hand. On the screen, the news was reporting about the man who'd been shot earlier today, the ex-congressman or whatever. All he could think about were those two shots he had heard from the television inside the convenience store that screwed it all up. That was supposed to be the last one, the final job, but he hadn't hit the safe. Damn.
The sound of crunching entered the room and Jay plopped on the couch with a bag of Doritos. Instantly, Jay grabbed the remote with his seasoning-covered hand and started to flip the channels.
"Hey! I was watching that!" Billy made a grab for the remote, but Jay pulled it out of his reach and rolled his eyes, making himself comfortable on his side of the patched cushions.
"You were starin' through it," he said, flipping past channel after channel with no end in sight. "Plus, it was just the news. Not like we care what's on the news, right?" Billy shook his head, sitting back.
"So," Billy almost hesitated to ask. "How much did we get?"
"Two hundred-thirty-four," Jay said, his face sliding into a frown.
"That's it?" The worst intake they'd had in two months. "That – That's barely enough for rent, let alone everything else!"
"Should have hit a bank…"
"Shut up, Jay," Billy said, grabbing for the bag of chips, but Jay pulled it away.
"Lot more money in a bank. Lot more untraceable money."
"Lot more than a fat cashier, too."
"Gas prices aren't helping either," Jay said, finally settling on a channel with women doing aerobics in spandex. His frown momentarily grows into a grin, but Billy grabs him by the collar to make him focus.
"This isn't a time for jokes," Billy said. Jay pulled away from him. "I needed that money."
"We both needed that money," Jay corrected, finally bored of the 'ladies in eighties' show and starting to flip channels again. "But that's what you get when you go after 7-Elevens and Gas 'N Go's. Especially when you don't get what's in the safe."
"That wasn't my fault."
"Course it wasn't…"
"There wasn't time!"
"How would you know?" Jay stared at him beadily.
"I know what I'm capable of, Jay," Billy said, shrugging off the stare and sitting back on the couch. Jay shook his head and reached into the Doritos bag for a few more chips.
"Sure, you do," he said, waving him off as he put the chips to his mouth. Jay bit down – but the chips were no longer there. He grumbled and looked over at Billy, eating the same chips after his quick snatch with a smirk.
"I know what I'm capable of," he said, smiling. Jay couldn't help but smile, too. Billy and Jay had been friends for too long to be mad at each other over stupid arguments. Even back when this apartment was more of a home rather than a dump they had been together. Memories hit him and Billy's smile faded into a frown.
"I want to go see her," he said after the silence got too thick.
"Your call," Jay said knowingly. "I wouldn't."
"Why not?"
"They knew it was you back at Bolton," Jay said as though this wasn't his first time saying it. "If anybody recognizes you…"
"They won't." Jay turned to meet Billy's eyes. Hopefully, he was emitting some sort of assurance to Jay. Jay shrugged and turned back to the television.
"Like I said, your call. Not mine." As though that was the closest thing to a "go ahead" that Billy would get, he got up off the couch and rummaged the floor for a jacket. He found one that looked decent enough to go out in, red with two blue stripes around the middle, and put it on as he headed for the door.
"Don't get caught." Billy paused a moment as he reached for the doorknob. He turned his head back towards Jay with a smirk.
"They can't catch me," he said as he walked out the door. "I'm too fast."
New Orleans, LA
Micah and Monica
Smoke rose from the building like a dormant volcano. Men and women in yellow fire suits patrolled the area around the site like detectives looking for clues. Monica stood with an arm around Micah, a firm hand on his shoulder as she looked expectantly out at the debris. They had called 9-1-1 an hour ago and the help showed up immediately. The boy who had taken Monica hostage was taken away. The fire was put out. The building was searched and there was no sign of Niki Sanders.
Micah had stayed silent the entire time, not crying, not whimpering, not moving at all. She envied him for that. Still, it had been more than half-an-hour of searching and they hadn't heard anything from anyone. They had to find her. They just had to.
One of the men in yellow fire suits was talking to a colleague across the way. He pointed over at Micah and her a moment and the colleague shook his head. He patted the colleague on the shoulder and started to walk their way. She tensed up, her fingernails digging into Micah's shoulder.
"Monica?"
She looked down and Micah was looking up at her. He eyed his shoulder.
"Oh!" She relinquished her grip.
"It's alright, Monica," Micah said, turning to gaze at the man coming toward them. "They're going to find her. She isn't… They're going to find her."
"I don't know, Micah, that building went up right after I got out. I…"
"They are! I know they are! She isn't dead! My mom isn't dead!" For the first time since the police and firemen arrived, tears began to well up in Micah's eyes. He turned toward the ground, leaning heavily on Monica's midsection. She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked up at the fireman who came to talk to them.
"Sir?" she said, holding back a lump in her throat.
"Well, we searched the entire area of the explosion," the guy said.
"And? Did you find my aunt or not?" The man sighed heavily, jockeying his weight from foot to foot.
"I'm sorry, ma'am," he finally said. "We did not find anyone in that building."
Tears began to fall along her cheek, looking down at Micah who would not look up. She held him closer, trying to think of anything to say. The man walked away, leaving the two to stand in silence and mourn their loss.
Courier General Hospital
Peter Petrelli and Matt Parkman
"Any leads yet?" Peter asked, arms folded in front of him.
Matt shook his head. "None yet." They stood in the hallway outside of Nathan's hospital room, discussion the situation. "We've accounted for all the press that were there, but if any random employee from the TV station decided to pull a trigger, it may turn out to be a whole lot harder than we thought."
Peter bit his lip, starting to pace back and forth over the dilemma going on in his mind. "Did you see anyone?"
"I swear I saw someone leaving, but everyone was going haywire. I didn't get a good enough look at whoever it was," Matt replied, looking angry with himself.
"It's alright, Matt." Peter patted him on the arm. "We're going to find out who did this. We just need to look for all our options." He scratched his head, thinking hard. "Are we sure nobody caught whoever it was on camera?"
"Asked just about everybody, but I can check again."
"Do it." Peter gave him a piercing stare. Matt nodded and started to walk down the hallway. Peter turned and went back inside the hospital room, sitting back down in the chair across from the bed.
"We're going to find them, Nathan," he said quietly, "don't you worry. We'll find out who did this to you." He took a deep breath and, slowly, let his head sag.
"Always knew you would," came a muffled voice from the other side of the room. Peter jerked his head up, staring. Coughing yet managing to smile, Nathan turned his head in bed. Peter stood up instinctively, the odd glow in the room almost making him disbelieve that this was real.
"Nathan… You – you're okay!"
"Of course, I'm okay, Peter," Nathan said with an air of confidence. "Did you really think a few bullets could keep me down?"
"Sure looked like it," Peter said with a smile. He reached out and put a hand on Nathan's shoulder. Suddenly…
A quick-beeping. The machine by Nathan's bed began to ring loudly.
"There isn't much time." Peter looked down and Nathan looked unrecognizable. His skin had gone pale, a mere vision of it's former self. His eyes were wide and his arms were shaking. "Go, before they make a terrible mistake. Before they let them out."
"…Nathan?" The beeping got quicker.
"Go now!" Nathan's head jerked toward Peter who backed away. His eyes were dilated and unblinking. The lights in the room got brighter. The beeping began to ring in his ears. "Before it's too late! Before she makes it too late!"
He couldn't see, he couldn't move.
"Before it's too late! Find who did this to me!" Brighter and brighter and brighter until…
Peter sucked in a gasping breath. His eyes opened wide and he stared wildly around him. Regaining his breath, he calmed down slowly. It was all a dream.
…Or was it?
The beeping continued, but Nathan stayed still and silent. Peter rushed up to Nathan's bedside to check the monitor. His heart rate was increasing rapidly.
"Nurse!" he shouted. "Hey, there's something wrong! Somebody get in here!"
Immediately the room was stormed by a doctor and two nurses. They spoke in phrases that Peter only learned in passing. They crossed back and forth around the bed, speaking hurriedly. He stepped back, his breathing shallow, hoping to God that Nathan was going to be okay.
-x-
Meanwhile, in the room beside it, a woman in her early fifties sat dormant in the hospital bed given to her. Sandy brown hair askew in many loose strands, she doesn't hear the commotion in the other room. Tubes extend down her nose and into her mouth, helping her breathe while a series of casts on her right arm and both legs keep her in place. She lies motionless, unaware of the Petrelli crisis in the other room…
…or of the man who just entered into hers.
He closed the door behind him without a sound. Like anyone could hear from the racket next door, but he took it as just a lucky break. Walking slowly toward the side of the bed, he cautions away from the light that surrounds it.
"I told you I'd be back," he said and smiled. He reached out an arm instinctively then paused. Should he? Could he risk it? If he did it quick, it wouldn't be a problem. Plus, the problem in the other room would keep them distracted. Yeah, he just had to be quick about it.
Then again, speed wasn't his problem.
"Hey, Mom," Billy said, stepping forward into the light and placing a hand on her arm. She felt cold. "Stupid nurses." He tucked the covers of her bed in carefully. Hopefully that helped.
"I got some more money today, Mom. I've almost got enough. "She didn't respond but he knew she'd have been happy. "I've been doing all I can to get enough. Nothing you wouldn't approve of." He added the last part quickly, but she stayed stationary. He frowned.
"Don't worry, Mom," he said, giving her arm a squeeze. "I'm going to make enough. I'm going to get you better again." Behind him, the door shimmied. "Then I'm going to show you what I can do."
The doorknob turned.
"What makes me special."
The door began to open. Billy turned quickly, gave a final squeeze to his mother's arm, and zipped out of sight.
The nurse came in and stopped a moment. Did she just see a ghost? No, it must have been her eyes playing tricks on her. She continued to the bedside with the tray in her hand and a new IV bag on top of it.
"I swear I just saw a phantom, Martha. Can you believe that?" She patted the woman in bed on the shoulder before changing the IV. "Maybe it was an angel. An angel lookin' out for ya."
Behind her, in the corner beside the door, Billy crept toward the open way out.
Death is inevitable.
He gave a final gaze to his mother, slipping out of the open door without a sound and zipping quickly down the hospital hallway toward the elevator.
-x-
But do we have time enough left to help those we love?
Peter Petrelli stood unblinking at the many people trying to help his brother stay alive. Please, keep him alive. No matter how much he thought it, though, he just couldn't hold himself to believe it.
"Sir." Peter turned toward the nurse who approached him. "Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to wait outside."
"I'm not leaving him," Peter said, standing his ground.
"I'm sorry sir, but the doctor needs to work. You'll just be outside, alright?" Peter wanted to stay. He wanted to help him. But he knew too well what he needed to do.
-x-
Is there some purpose they have left to serve before they are gone?
Along an open road in Louisiana, Monica Dawson drove in silence, afraid to look toward the passenger seat next to her for fear of continuing to cry. She knew that Micah had continued to stare when they left the explosion site. She knew he had lost his mother in that horrific explosion.
She did not know, however, where he would go from here. He had been silent ever since the declaration of Niki's death. Hopefully, while lost in thought for the rest of the drive, she would find a way to express it was going to be okay. But what is okay when you lose both your parents?
-x-
Is there some way we can save our family from the inevitable? …No.
Peter stared through the grid-patterned glass as the doctors did their work. He had work of his own to do over the coming days. But he still needed Nathan to pull it all together.
"Come on, Nathan," Peter whispered to himself. "Pull through. I know you can pull through…"
Sadly, his hopes didn't put him any more at ease. And the night wearing on would bring him less and less comfort as the hours went by.
-x-
But with every death, a new life is born. And with every new life comes a far different purpose.
The lights above him flickered sickeningly before staying on. It made a strange image on the floor, him in his large-brimmed black hat and knee-length black trench coat. Damn rickety police stations. Couldn't trust them for anything, not even enough light to see your hand in front of your face for more than 10 seconds.
"Got it," an officer said, entering the room with what looked like a small cassette tape. "Just came in an hour ago. You're lucky you got here when you did."
"Yeah," the large man in the trench coat replied. "Lucky." Around the group in the room were three medium-sized televisions hooked up to a number of input devices. The trench-coated man folded his arms in front of him as the tape was handed off to the woman beside the mass of equipment against the wall.
"What was his name again?" asked a second male officer, nudging the first that just entered. The first opened his mouth to answer.
"Burbank," the trench-coated man said. The lights in the room flickered once more. "Just call me Burbank."
"Well, Mr. Burbank," the female in front of the screens replied, "you're about to get what you asked for." She pressed play on the VCR and the screen in front of her flipped to life.
It showed a small convenience store with a group of people in line. One by one, the people paid for their things and went. Meanwhile, in the bottom-right corner of the screen, someone walked into the store with their head held down, moving toward the back of the store.
"We thinkin' that's our perpetrator?" The first officer picked at his teeth with his pinky nail, leaning towards the screen. Burbank sneered silently behind him.
"Yep," the female replied. "He's the only one unaccounted for before the shooting starts."
The video had no audio, but several people in the shot ducked down and a masked figure walked toward the front counter. Burbank's eyes widened as he continued to watch, the gun in the criminal's hand moving to point toward the cashier's head.
Then, he turns. The camera gets a good shot of his masked face, but not enough to tell who it is. The cashier begins to grab a shotgun from behind the counter. The criminal turns back. He fires… and misses. Magazines fall on the cashier's head and –
"Hang on," Burbank says. "Rewind and pause it after that shot was taken." He moves the first officer out of the way to take a good look at the screen.
"We don't understand it either," the second officer says, noticing the same wonder in Burbank's posture. "One minute the guy is there, the next he's not. He's like a ghost. Which doesn't make any sense because the money was still stolen."
Staring straight into the screen, though, Burbank smiles.
"Who are you with again, Mr. Burbank?" the first officer asks. If only these people knew.
"I'm self-employed. A private investigator."
"You're a bounty hunter, aren't you?" Bounty hunter was a mere shadow of what he was, but he decided not to correct him.
"How many people have seen this tape?" Burbank asked, ignoring the previous question.
"Just us three," the second officer replied, "maybe one more. Why?" The officer gave him an eerie eye. He was catching on.
"Good," Burbank said, striding to the center of the room. "Very good." The lights in the room began to flicker again.
"Darn lights," the first officer said, staring up at them. Burbank smiled again.
"Here," he said, opening his palms at his sides, "let me help you with that…"
The lights flickered out quickly. The sound of a surge going through the room, intermittent with flashes of the ceiling fluorescents ensued. All at once, the noise stopped and the lights came back up.
All three officers were sprawled on the floor. Burbank is the only one still standing in the same spot. He strode prominently over to the video system once again. Taking one final look at the blur where the masked criminal once was, he made his hand into the shape of an imaginary gun and pointed it at the screen.
"Got you, kid," he said. And with a "pull of the trigger," the room goes black.
TO BE CONTINUED...