Her hand placed the receiver down slowly onto the telephone lying now docile on the antique sideboard. It was as steady as a rock, not a single emotion seemed to pulse through her. Surely she should feel something, anything, some sort of reaction. Her mind struggled for the word and suddenly as the conversation repeated in her head they flooded back to her; sorrow, sadness, hurt, distress, loss, pain. Emotions, she scoffed to herself, those had been lost on her for years. She snorted to herself almost giving out a shriek of laughter, how ironic; he had done his job, taught her so well, hell he may have even been proud of her in that moment at her coolness. She turned on her heel allowing a moment of reflection she gazed out of the window and considered her next course of action, plan, plan, plan, he had taught her this too. There was so much to do but of course there was no doubt he would have had everything in place for this event, every arrangement made down to the last minute detail hell he would've known this would happen. Shrugging herself she picked up the telephone receiver again and dialled a New York telephone number. Merely an instant passed before her call was immediately connected and a calm voice answered, she remembered it well.
"P, P & M. Walter Smithson. Daniel, how are you?" She laughed down the telephone to a muted silence at the other end.
"I'd say he has had better days. He's dead." There was no emotion in her voice. "This is his daughter, Evelyn Linderman."
--
Angela Petrelli placed the telephone receiver down; slowly she turned back towards her living room ignoring the lavish furnishings and noticing the emptiness, her hollow surroundings. Did she feel remorse at having to be the one to pass on the news of Linderman's death? There was no expression or hint within her demeanour, for the minute she was ensconced in her own world and the fate of her two sons. She glanced down at her wrist, at the slender gold bracelet hanging there, the ticking watch drawing fate ever closer, time was passing so slowly. An impatient sigh escaped into the heavy air, it should have happened by now. She slowly made her way into another smaller, less lavishly decorated room, sliding her hand across a slick remote and pointing it to the large television it sprung to life with a dull almost silent thunk. Ignoring the late-night films, entertainment news, sports channels and other crudities which adorned the set she located a news channel and held a small breath. Nothing, she glanced at her watch again, the timepiece told the correct time of 12:30am and yet nothing was showing, no breaking news, no disaster warnings, nothing. Her lips pursed, she should have known something had changed. That slight shift which she had felt earlier as she was informing Linderman's daughter, just a tiny prickle on her skin which she assumed had been a chill, how foolish to ignore even the smallest difference in atmosphere. Damn it.
--
Evelyn Linderman was never one to shy away from anything. She had the resolve of a feminist combined with the ruthlessness of a businessman and the questioning manner of an entrepreneur, if faced with a crisis she could not be described as one who falls into a blind panic. When her father's lawyer instructed her to open the safe which lay tidily hidden away in her father's study she did so with only one question in her mind, why? Sliding the dial along to the numbers comprising the combination and patiently awaiting the dull thud of the bolts unlocking themselves she was tempted to query this but for once she allowed her curiosity to extinguish her questioning. Pulling on the heavy secure door Evelyn's cold blue eyes peered inside.
"What the hell?" Her expletive echoed round the empty hollow room. The lawyer had been no use at all simply ending the conversation with the cryptic clue of "Follow the instructions" before abruptly ending the conversation. Evelyn reached into the now open safe and pulled out a large brown envelope, a set of keys, a cell phone and a smaller white envelope. Each was labelled with a number, for gawd's sake, even when he was dead her father was the most controlling and organised man on the planet. Her fingers tore away the seal on the white envelope neatly marked with a 1 in her father's writing, she rolled her eyes, there were five pages. "Bloody man!" She discarded the letter and looked curiously at the keys which rattled on a silver key chain marked with the number 2 and the sealed brown envelope marked with a 3, she was tempted to open it. She shrugged to herself, what was there to stop her? Just as her fingers reached the back of the envelope and the heavily sealed flap she heard a familiar tick-tick of rotary blades, she frowned, why would her father's helicopter be landing on the roof? Last she knew it had carried him to New York and he was supposed to be due back early tomorrow morning, nothing ever happened differently than her father planned. A nagging voice in the back of her mind reminded her that there was a letter discarded on the floor that might give her a clue as to what was happening. She snatched this up from its haphazard position on the carpet, scanning the first page of heavy cream paper and black scrawl and automatically pulled the last page to the front. Typical, a list, each individual task labelled with a number, again, according to importance, everything in chronological order and as her eyes scanned the first 'task' the tick-tick of the rotary blades fell into place and as she scrabbled to the floor she looked down at herself. Shaking her head she wondered if her father had factored into his considerations at least ten minutes for her to change into something more respectable.
--
Peter Petrelli was in a blanket of nothing and then suddenly everything around him changed from an empty canvas to blazing white hot stars blurring into never ending streaks burning against a black sky. Out of the blue his stomach began to drag behind the rest of his body and the sensation of high-speed falling overwhelmed him. It took a split second of terror for his body to react before he was floating calmly down the final few feet before landing heavily onto the dirty sidewalk of the dark New York street falling into the deep comforting haze of unconsciousness.
It may have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, months or even years before he finally managed to open his eyes, peeling his eyelids away from his sore brown eyes almost grateful for the cold rain that had started to fall sometime since he had landed unceremoniously on the hard New York sidewalk. The drip-drip-drip was immediately joined by a sharp click-click-click and suddenly the dripping rain ceased and his eyes attempted to focus on whom or whatever was standing over him. A sudden slash of red above a blur of black, a blaze of blue and a shock of white, they were all too overwhelming for his exhausted mind to decipher and he allowed his eyes to close again expecting to fall back into the haze of blackness, sweet unconsciousness. Fate, however, along with whomever was sheltering him from the rain was not about to allow such a need and a soft warm touch slid across his neck and pressed lightly feeling for his pulse, a sudden energy flowed through him for just a second before fleeing. After a few seconds the touch appeared satisfied and withdrew, blessed unconsciousness beckoned him and just before allowing the slip back into darkness his muddled brain picked up a simple conversation.
"Get him into the car Henry."
"Yes Miss Linderman."
--
Angela Petrelli was perturbed. Damned Daniel had snuck in a curveball and then another. For someone who had planned down to the last second he had certainly deviated dramatically from the plan they had prepared together. What was going to happen next? She would need to sleep on that one, but what about Nathan and Peter? How was she supposed to rest until she knew their fates, of course there was the assurance that they had not been caught in the bomb since that dreaded event had failed to occur, had Linderman known? Had he taken the steps to stop it? Had he turned to thinking as Charles had before he died? The tinkling of the doorbell disturbed her train of questions and she gave a sigh. Who would be bothering her at this time of night? Reaching the door she peered through the spy-hole. No-one! Surely children were not awake to play foolish childhood games at three thirty in the morning! Expressing her dissatisfaction with heavy exhalation she turned back to her living room and took a step back towards her thoughts before a large brown envelope sitting on her side table caught her eye. Her brown eyes, almost identical to her sons' scanned the addressee, it was herself. The writing looked familiar. Picking it up she turned it over and looked at the heavy seal on the back and suddenly began to rip it open pulling almost impatiently at the contents. Placing the envelope quickly back onto the side table ignoring the fluttering sheet of cream paper that glided gracefully onto the floor she looked at the single mounted sketch that she held in her hands. A single tear escaped down her cheek and fell onto the sketch.
--
Evelyn Linderman was not at all perturbed. In fact she was downright pissed. A babysitter! Her foot tapped constantly in an impatient rhythm on the floor as she leaned against a doorframe. As if she wasn't insulted enough at the fact her father had left her tasks like she was an untrustworthy schoolgirl but that she was to remain in a filthy New York apartment with a man whom she didn't know and had rescued off the street for another man who she did not know to show up. The whole 'task' was infuriating. She glanced at her nails and then around the apartment for the seventeenth time, the man was still asleep, judging from the rate of his pulse he would be in that state for at least another two possibly three hours and who knew when this other man would show up. What an earth could one do at five thirty in the morning in New York? Her mind wondered back to the envelope, the brown envelope, the one that was numbered three. She lifted her finger to her lips in silent thought, technically she had used the keys which were labelled two to enter the apartment, so really that did mean she would be able to open the envelope. Her eyes glanced from side to side as if to check she was not being watched before walking into the small living room and allowing her hand to reach down into her large bag and pull out the envelope. Her eyes shifted from side to side again before her nail slipped under the sealed flap and began dragging itself along and tearing at the envelope. She was engrossed in the possibility of being allowed to see what was inside the mysterious envelope that she failed to hear the moan that escaped the body lying in the bedroom.
--
Peter peeled his eyes open for the second time that morning, the soft morning light seeped into them causing his pupils to shrink in reaction and his hand to sweep up to cover his face for protection. He groaned to himself running his tongue across his dry lips and wishing for some water to quench what now seemed an unbearable thirst. Removing his hand and blinking rapidly to adjust to the dawn sun he sat up and looked around his apartment. He shook his head in wonder, how had he gotten to his apartment, last he could remember he had been lying on the sidewalk. He strained against the fuzziness of his memory; he could snatch a brief glimpse of splashes of colour, red, black, blue and white and then nothing. He pushed himself upright, swinging his legs so his bare feet sat flat on the rug by the side of his bed, placing his head between his legs he fought a brief wave of nausea. He felt rough like he was recovering from a bad hangover, had he been drinking the night before? Taking deep breaths to relax his body he slowly brought his head back up and looked around the room, there sitting on his bedside table innocently was a tall glass of water he snatched at it and swallowed it all in one huge gulp. Instantly every symptom disappeared and he came back to himself remembering the events of the night before, tears sprung to his eyes, what had happened to Nathan? He immediately stood up and sprinted into the living room, he needed a phone, he needed to call Nathan, god what the hell had he done? He was rooting around blindly in desperation for his cell phone or his cordless, something on which he could dial Nathan's number.
"You're awake." A female voice echoed into his head and he looked up instantly. "Do you need something?"
--
Evelyn's fingers were seized around the cardboard that was inside the envelope and she was milliseconds from pulling it from within its brown paper shelter when she felt someone else enter the room. She immediately ceased her actions and turned around; the man whom she had removed from the street was frantically pulling at random items as if looking for something.
"You're awake." She spoke before she could stop herself and almost immediately her words seemed inappropriately intimate. Shit, she thought on her feet, "Do you need something?" She looked questioningly at the man who was now gaping at her, his deep brown eyes a mixture of surprise, shock, terror, despair and threat. Her whole body reacted instantly at the threat it seemed to sense. Her hands shot out in front her and a shimmering field of translucent silver wrapped around her.
"A phone, I need a phone." The threat disappeared and the eyes filled with total despair and terror. She reached into her bag and pulled out the cell phone that had been sat in the safe, she threw it onto the sofa threw the shield that still flickered around her. No word of thanks was spoken as the man reached for it snapping it open, dialling a telephone number and holding it against his right ear.
"Peter? Thank god. What is going on in here? Who is this?" A new presence joined the stagnant atmosphere of the small New York apartment and Evelyn disappeared behind a sheath of silver.
--