Thomas smiled cheerfully. "Oh, yes. It's a great place. Two bathrooms, four bedrooms, perfect for raising a family."
The couple looked around the place. The woman was smiling, but the man looked uneasy. "A little… cold, isn't it?"
Thomas shrugged. "The air conditioner's on the blink sometimes. Easily fixable."
The man looked like he'd swallowed something sour. "Yes, for a sizable amount of money." He grumbled under his breath.
"Oh, not these days, Robert." The woman said airily, blowing off his complaints.
Thomas smiled once more. "There is a rumor going around. It's why this house hasn't been sold yet."
"Oh?" the woman asked, turning to him.
Thomas laughed heartily. "Oh, yes, just a scary story if you ask me. But… they say that this house is haunted."
The man's face turned ashen. "Um, dear…"
She blew it off again. "Haunted, schmaunted. This place is wonderful!" But she still looked somewhat interested in the story.
"Well, the story is," Thomas continued. "Some serial killer came here and killed a young girl. It happened years back, of course…"
"We… we'll think about it." The man said hastily. "Come on, sweetie. Maybe we can talk it over…"
She sighed heavily, but nodded in agreement. "We'll think about it." She promised Thomas.
Thomas smiled. "Great! Give me a call if you decide!"
"We will!" The man said, hurriedly pushing his wife out the door, which he slammed behind them.
Thomas sighed, the smile vanishing from his face. Oh, this house was haunted, all right. But more by memories than by an actual ghost.
A woman came in through the back door. "Still trying to sell this place, eh?"
Thomas smiled weakly. The woman's name was Angelica, but she had once been known as Amy, and before that, Rose. But the first name that had ever belonged to her was Claire Bennett.
"No one's really interested." He replied sadly, placing a hand on the wall. "And I don't really blame them."
Angelica sighed and came up next to him. "Really, Peter. It happened years ago. You can let go now."
"I could have saved her, Claire." The man who had once been known as Peter Petrelli answered her. "But he… just got there first."
Claire hugged her uncle tightly. "There is nothing you can do about it now, all right? So please. For your sake, stop trying."
He sighed deeply, but nodded. "You're right, of course."
She smiled. "Of course I am." She smiled at him. "Come on. Let's go home."
Peter smiled back and followed her out the door, leaving the house and its ghosts of memories.
Rachel watched in silence as Peter left. A single tear fell down her face. She sighed. She should expect it by now. Everyone left in the end; it was only a matter of time before it happened with Peter, too.
It was hard to accept, though, that the only man (Correction, only friendly man) who had been there when she'd died was abandoning her at long last. He was the only one fighting for her. He was the only one not slicing through her head, not causing the blood to flow down her face…
She closed her eyes, not wanting to remember that night. Because it was too painful. Far too painful.
She sighed and sat down. She could stay here. She could wait until someone came into the house. She'd gotten good at waiting.
But something in her was screaming. She needed to find the man that did this to her. Find him and make him pay.
It was him keeping her mind alive, after all.
She smiled grimly and walked through the door. If it was the last thing she did (which it undoubtedly would be) she would have her revenge on Sylar.
Sylar sighed heavily and sat on the couch. His hands were still covered in blood; he hadn't bothered to wash them yet.
But that wasn't his major problem. The cops had found out about this place. He was going to have to get out, and quickly, if he wanted to avoid a confrontation. Not that he particularly cared, but it was easier than murdering a bunch of police in broad daylight.
He started ticking through ideas of where his next home would be.
Rachel's house hasn't been sold yet. The idea popped into his head, though he had no idea where from.
Rachel? Which one was that?
He thought for a moment, then remembered. The elemental. She controlled the earth.
He smirked. Correction. She had controlled the earth. Now it was his ability.
He thought for a long time. He'd gotten into a fight with Peter over that one. But he tried to think past the battles of that night, and tried to remember the house itself.
It could work. Large enough, yet discreet enough. It didn't bother him that someone had died there; her killer was hardly going to come back to destroy him.
It wasn't a bad idea. He smiled and stood up, washed the blood off his hands, changed his blood-stained shirt, and walked out, leaving his old house behind him.
Rachel watched with a dark satisfaction. She smiled and followed Sylar.
"I'm home!" The serial killer called. Silence answered him.
He chuckled and looked around. The blood he remembered from that night had long ago been cleaned. No one had bought this house in years. Maybe they'd heard the story of what had happened. He snorted. Humans were so superstitious.
He sat down, making himself at home.
Sylar was asleep.
The night was absolutely pitch-black, and completely silent. Nothing moved.
Sylar's breath came out in a cloud. In his sleep, he pulled the covers closer.
But it kept getting colder. Ice seemed to form on the walls, barely lit by the faint moonlight that had just decided to appear.
Thud.
Sylar's eyes snapped open.
Thud.
Sylar sat up, electricity dancing on his hand. He shouldn't be scared. He could stop any kind of attack, from human or hero. He was immortal, for crying out loud!
So why was he so terrified?
Thud.
He slowly stood up, looking around. He shivered and decided to bring the blanket with him.
Thud.
The sound was getting closer. Sylar walked into the other room. His electric-laced hand lit the darkness enough for him to see…
Thud.
Sylar swore and backed up.
The door slammed behind him. He fumbled for the lock, trying desperately to get back into his room, yet unable to take his eyes off the sight in front of him.
Thud. It was just a shoe, moving up and down. Sylar had seen telekinesis used before, so this wouldn't have surprised him if it was alone.
But it was the walls. They were absolutely covered in ice, sparkling in the moon-and-lightning light.
The shoe was coming closer, a high-heeled one with strange pink lace. He tried to open the door, but it had locked behind him.
Sylar tried to think rationally. This shouldn't scare him. What, attack of the killer shoes? He should see it for what it was; a joke probably played by some hero.
But he just couldn't see it that way, no matter how hard he tried.
He swore again as something came through the walls. A young woman, probably seventeen. She seemed to be made of ice; she was transparent as glass, and yet somehow solid. Beautiful, thick, light brown hair flowed like water down her face.
She walked past him, looking out the window and at the moon above. The light brushed across her, making her skin shine. She stared out the window. Sylar couldn't speak. He couldn't scream. There was absolute silence. Even the thudding shoe respected it, remaining absolutely still.
It grew even colder still. Sylar's breath clouded in front of him, and ice still traveled the walls. The floor seemed to be made of snow.
The woman kept her eyes on the moon. "Beautiful tonight, isn't it?" She asked. Her voice sounded distant, yet echoed all around him. Sylar shivered.
She finally turned to him. She had bright brown eyes, and he recognized her instantly.
He tried to back up even further against the wall. "You're dead!" He cried. "You're dead! You died! I killed you! I killed you!"
But the woman he recognized as Rachel just smiled softly. "This is only the beginning." She told him.
The moon hid behind the clouds, and Sylar was plunged into darkness. He lit his hand with electricity again, but the girl was gone. The snowy floor had changed, and the walls now had no ice crawling up them. He was completely alone.
He shivered, despite the fact that it was no longer cold. Somehow, he doubted that he was alone.
Rachel watched as Sylar slowly walked back to his bed, having found that the door wasn't locked and never had been. He stayed under the blankets, unable to sleep for a long time. But Rachel never slept. She watched as exhaustion finally overcame the serial killer, and he drifted off to sleep.