This is a one shot, which takes place after The Art of Deception. Sylar has been thrown into a hell of Matt Parkman's making. How does he cope with his own demons? Reviews accepted with gratitude.
I do not own Heroes (or Star Trek).
Life in Hell ...... Population--one!
He wandered the empty city streets, not sure how he even got from Parkman's house to the middle of downtown....Los Angeles? How long had he been walking anyway? During that entire time, he hadn't run into anyone, not one person. He saw not one animal, bird, or even an insect cross his path. Was this what Parkman had meant? Sylar now lived in a world with a population of one.
Since no cars were in this world, Sylar had to walk everywhere. Oddly, he wasn't tired, nor did he find himself hungry or thirsty. The sun shone brightly, but he felt no warmth in the air. He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he wandered. Once, he thought he'd heard a noise, but he must have been mistaken. There was nothing moving, anywhere.
Sylar thought if he checked every street, he might find...what? People? A doorway like on that old Star Trek series, where people would play on the holodeck of their ship, and call out for the exit when they wanted out?
He so wanted out. "Exit!" he shouted. Nothing happened, not that he expected it. All he could do was laugh at himself for even trying.
Day flowed into night. Night flowed into day. And still he wandered. His mind began to play tricks on him. He passed a park, and thought he heard children playing. He ran into the enclosed area, and found no one. No children. Not even the swings were moving.
"You're going to lose it, Sylar, if you're not careful." Talking to himself alleviated the heaviness of the constant silence. "Well, wonder what we might find if we go into this building."
He entered into a marble lobby of a business office, but no guard sat at his post. There were no secretaries sitting at the desks. No coffee perked in the break room. Without people, he noticed there were no smells. He went inside a restaurant, only to discover the kitchen empty. The counters were spotless. The stove went unlit. No aromas of gourmet cooking filled the rooms. It was like being in a....model city. Like the model homes, with beautiful, unused furnishings. Everything was in its place. The only thing missing was people.
Sylar stopped counting the passing days at 423. He decided the days and nights must be shorter than in his old reality. He couldn't possibly have been here a year already.
He recounted the last moments before Parkman had shoved him into this place. He tried looking for a clue, any clue, that might help him get the hell out of here. He came up empty.
One day, Sylar thought he was really going around the bend. As he crossed a street making his usual rounds, he thought he'd seen someone go around a corner, not 100 feet in front of him. He picked up his pace, until he was running. As he turned the corner, he nearly ran into Nathan Petrelli.
Sylar tilted his head, his brows furrowed. "You're dead," he said.
Nathan merely looked back at Sylar, and replied, "Yes. You killed me."
"I'm so sorry about that. I was really pissed off. It wasn't personal. Well, yeah, it was. But if I had it to do over, I probably wouldn't have bothered." He lowered his head and bit his lip, but by the time he looked back up, Nathan was gone.
"Nathan! Don't go...please! Nathan....I don't want to be alone." Sylar walked on down the sidewalk, realizing he was hallucinating. He'd been here for almost two years in this Parkman-created hell, and his mind was finally cracking.
His next hallucination greeted him in the Main library. Sylar thought if he had some books to read, it might be a pleasant diversion for his weary brain and lonely spirit. He found, however, that every book he opened contained nothing but blank pages. Apparently, Parkman's hell wasn't complete. As he started to leave, he was met by Hiro Nakamura. "What are you doing here? I never killed you."
The hallucination bowed to him, saying, "No, Brain Man. I killed you." Then he vanished.
As months passed, Sylar was visited by various faces from his past, both dead and living. Each time he reached out to them, they vanished. So as the visits continued, he stopped, just so they would stay awhile. In his crazed loneliness, they even started to talk with him.
The hardest visit was from his mom, Virginia. He met her in the lobby of a posh hotel. She still wore the same dowdy house dress that she had died in, her hair pulled back, as always.
"Mom!" He instantly reached out to her, then jerked his hand back, afraid she'd go away. "Mom, how are you?"
"Gabriel, my son. I would have come sooner, but you didn't want me here."
"No, Mom, I wouldn't keep you away. I...miss you." He looked at her standing not three feet away from him, yet he knew if he tried to touch her, she would disappear like the others.
"Gabriel, how did you get yourself in this situation? Didn't I always warn you...?"
"Mom, I was placed here by someone who hates me, because I hurt him, and I threatened his family. Mom, why do I do that? How come I don't know how to deal with people in any way other than to threaten them?"
"I wouldn't know. I raised you properly, Gabriel," the vision said.
"No, you didn't! No matter how hard I try to be different, I end up threatening and hurting everyone. It's all I know!" Sylar whirled on his mother, and reached out his arms to grab her shoulders, but she disappeared. He was left grasping empty air. Tears began to flow down his cheeks. No one was around, so he didn't care. "I want to change, Mom. But I don't know how," he whispered, as he left the hotel.
Three weeks later, as he was checking out one of the department stores, he had taken the elevator up to the 5th floor. As the elevator doors opened, he saw Claire Bennet standing in front of him, waiting. Sylar found himself actually smiling at the former cheerleader. "Claire!" he enthused. "I'm so happy to see you. I can't believe I'm saying that, but I am."
"Sylar, I thought you might like to join me in some shopping."
He wasn't one for shopping, rarely varying in his own choice of clothing, but his loneliness compelled him to follow her. He stayed by her side every moment, afraid that, like the others, she would leave. When she asked him how he liked some outfit or other, he answered her honestly.
After she had shown him a pretty blue dress, Claire turned to Sylar, and asked, "Do you love?"
Sylar looked at her in surprise. "What?" he asked, dumbfounded by the point blank question.
"Do...you ...love? It's a simple enough question." Claire grinned up at him.
His attention moved from her eyes, to the smile on her face, then back up to her eyes. He tried to think of any time in his life when he really loved someone. He couldn't think of anything. Oh, he loved his mom, but even that wasn't an open, trusting love. In the end she had feared him, and he had killed her. Sylar replied honestly, "I want to, but I don't know how."
Claire's smile broadened, her eyes sparkling. "Learn."
"How?" he asked. "Show me!"
A look of sadness replaced the smile, as Claire shook her head. "I can't. I don't love you."
His eyes stung as he blinked back unshed tears. Sylar swallowed hard, and looked away. As he stared off into the distance, he felt a warmth on his hand, then a gentle touch. When he jerked his head back to see the source of the touch, Claire had vanished. Had she touched him? Was it even possible?
He brought up his hand, looking at it, the sensation still there. Was his mind so far gone, that his hallucinations were becoming more real?
He bowed his head. She had said she didn't love him. He didn't blame her, after all he'd done to her. But his ties to the cheerleader would always be there, from the first day he'd met her, to the most recent time he'd seen her at her college. He'd kissed her then, not romantically, but to gain a sense of her feelings and needs. It was a different kiss than any he had given a woman. His past was filled with kisses and lovemaking, then blood and death. His kiss with Claire had left her alive, and some of his questions answered. He still felt confused, but Sylar knew he was on the right path to a new life. Then Parkman had tricked him, and sent him to this world devoid of people. It was his own form of ironic punishment. Sylar was now powerless and alone, in a never ending nightmare.
He sighed, and left the store. He wandered around for months. One day, he was walking up the middle of the street, the fact that there were no cars making that free of danger. He shouted out, "Hello!" He called to anyone who might be there, although he knew no one was. Not expecting any answer, he continued calling out in desperation, until his voice was hoarse.
Sylar stopped. He thought he'd heard someone calling. No, it was just another hallucination, he told himself. But there in the distance, he saw a figure in dark clothing. Who was it now? He squinted his eyes in the sunlight. As the figure approached, Sylar recognized Peter Petrelli. Up to now, he hadn't envisioned the younger Petrelli brother, only the elder. He walked on over, more out of curiosity. Upon reaching him, he couldn't help thinking how real he looked.
"I came to get you out of here," the vision said.
Sylar reached out his hand, unable to stop himself, and touched solid flesh! He suppressed a sarcastic laugh. "There is no getting out of here, Peter. I've tried....for three years." Sylar decided to accept the vision as real, until he found out otherwise.
"Three years. What are you talking about? It's been three hours," Peter said, appearing confused.
Sylar couldn't believe what he had just heard. The last three years of his hellish existence took place in three hours of real time? And how did Peter get into this world?
Sylar smiled. He knew that he was no longer alone. In this former enemy, he now had an ally. And together, if Peter's intentions were to help Sylar, they'd find a way out. Together.
The two walked up the street, Sylar trying hard not to throw an arm around Peter's shoulders.
Pete turned to him, and asked, "So, what's it been like in here for the last three years?"