"I have kept you out of danger your whole life so you wouldn't have to find your limits. Because if they find you, that's what they'll do. They'll cut you, they'll test you. And they will push you so far past your capacity for pain that you'll wish you could die. Believe me. You may feel confined here, but this is far freer a cage than the one they'd put you in."
-Noah Bennet, 'Lizards'
Her father had always tried to keep her out of danger. It was hard to see at the time, blinded as she was by confusion and betrayal, but he'd done everything for her. He'd warned her of the dangers of exposing her abilities, of what could happen to her if she even tried to use them to help others. He'd warned her against even using them to stop others, those who would threaten their exposure or the lives of others. He'd wanted to keep her in a glass cage, free from the fear and pain that the rest of her kind endured on a daily basis.
But she wasn't so fragile.
She could no longer feel pain; Sylar had made sure of that. She could regrow appendages, spit out bullets, have her skull sawed off and reattached. Nothing could touch her if she didn't want it to, and yet still he continued to treat her like a child. She wasn't allowed to help the millions of people who died each day, even though she knew perfectly well that her blood would heal them. It had brought her father back, after all, possibly even from death. She could help people, prevent them from feeling the same fear and helplessness that she had as Sylar probed her mind, her thoughts. She could help others like her, give them comfort and hope the way her father had tried to do. She could show them that they weren't alone. She could do so much for the world, if only her father would let her.
The carnival had provided the perfect opportunity. A simple fall, no pain, and the world would know. She had torn her eyes from his as she stood at the top, her arms spread out as she allowed herself to relax, to fall forward, down, down, until the earth reached up to meet her.
With that single moment she changed everything. She'd thought it'd be a chance to start again, to do something revolutionary for the world. She wouldn't have to hide; not only could she help, but she could finally figure out who she was. She'd never gotten a chance to explore it before; how could you be yourself when you had to pretend to be someone else, when you couldn't even keep your own name?
"My name is Claire Bennet, and this is attempt number... I guess I've kind of lost count."
The words rolled easily off her tongue, and amid the camera flashes and confused shouts, she finally allowed herself to look at her father. As her eyes searched the crowd, however, passing quickly over Sylar and the rest, she realized he had already gone.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
"Good morning, Miss Bennet."
Claire looked up from where she lay, her eyes bleary and half-closed. The woman walking toward her was dressed entirely in white, her bright red hair a stark contrast to the rest of the room. Her heels clicked lightly on the tiled floor, and she pulled a pencil from behind her ear as she stopped next to the bed, humming lightly under her breath.
"And how are you feeling this morning?" She asked. Claire pressed her lips together, narrowing her eyes slightly as the woman turned her arm over, checking the pulse on her wrist and taping the IV that led into her arm.
"We're making real progress," She said, scribbling something down on the chart in her hands. "The doctor thinks that it's only a matter of time before your neurons reconnect. Isn't that just wonderful?"
Claire felt a sudden wave of anger and revulsion towards this woman, thinking distantly that at least those feelings hadn't left her.
"Peachy," She said through clenched teeth, wishing she could knock the stark white teeth out of the older woman's mouth as she smiled.
"Good, good," The woman said, scribbling down something else before stepping back, turning away to the curtains over the window. "What do you say we let some light in here?" She asked, throwing open the curtains before Claire could respond. "It's so dreary in here," She said, cracking the window slightly. Claire closed her eyes as the breeze wafted in slowly, stirring the few strands of blonde hair that stuck to her clammy forehead.
"The orderly should be in soon with your breakfast," The woman chirped, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ears. "Then we'll move you to the operating room. Keep your chin up, dear. I really do think we're getting somewhere."
With those words the woman was gone, the door swinging shut behind her and locking with a heavy 'click'. Claire slowly opened her eyes again, flinching against the stark white light above her. The small amount of sunlight barely offset them, though she was grateful for the fresh air, something she never would have admitted to the woman assigned as her 'nurse'. She didn't even know the woman's name, though she'd thought of many ways to kill her in her spare time.
The room was empty except for the bed she lay on and a small bedside table, on top of which sat a nearly empty glass of water and an empty tray from the previous morning's breakfast. Everything was white; she may have felt as though she were in a hospital, were it not for the straps binding her to the bed and the fact that the view outside simply showed her a long, empty field, stretching on as far as her eyes could see. She knew that that was the reason they didn't mind allowing her window to be open; even if she did leave, she would never get off the property before they caught her.
Her eyes moved almost involuntarily up to the blinking red eye of the camera that was pointed at her bed, narrowing slightly at the men she knew sat behind it, watching her every minute of every day. If she took so much as a step out of place they knew, and it only took moments for someone to enter her room and reprimand her. She'd tried to escape too many times already. The punishments she knew they doled out to other patients were useless on her; what use were beatings if you couldn't feel pain? It was only once they began to threaten her family that she stayed put, taking every injection with a bitter taste on her tongue and a tight knot in her stomach, wishing she could kill them.
The dark path her mind had taken had alarmed her at first, though now the thoughts only gave her comfort, a rarity in this prison. The anger and hatred she harbored for them were what kept her feeling alive, feeling human, when everything else screamed that she was anything but.
When the door opened, she was surprised to find the redhead once more, a slightly apologetic look on her face as she approached the bed.
"There's been a change of plans. The doctor wants to see you now," she said. She reached down, her cold fingers undoing the bonds that held Claire down. The woman was fairly pale, and Claire blanched slightly at the stark contrast between their skin tones. Claire was no longer the tan color she once was; her skin was thin and brittle like paper, even paler than this woman's. She closed her eyes, knowing that blue veins could be seen through them, in the crook of her arm along with the scars from countless injections and drawn blood.
She sat up when the bonds were gone, ignoring the way her head spun at the sudden disorientation. She waved off the woman's half-hearted protests as she stood up, leaning on the bedside table until her legs adjusted to their sudden weight. The thin gown they allowed her to wear made her look like a ghost, she knew, though she still held herself up high, her back straight and chin raised, as she followed the nurse to the door.
She didn't even need the woman to lead her; she knew the way by now. The hallways seemed to stretch on into eternity, every door they passed housing another individual, another person just like her. She'd so often seen them rolled off on slabs, sheets covering their pale and bloodless faces, and felt rage burning in her blood. Why wouldn't they allow her to heal them? They knew what her blood could do, had used it before. Still, though, part of her was glad that those individuals no longer had to suffer; some part of her even envied them.
She was unsure how long she'd been inside this white prison. The last time she'd asked what day it was, the doctor had simply smiled at her from behind his glasses and said it was of no importance to her. It felt like it had been years, though she knew she hadn't aged a day, despite how awful she looked. She was the perfect experiment; she would never be obsolete.
The room she was led into was just as white as the one she'd left behind, perhaps even more so. There were no windows; just row upon row of unfamiliar machines and equipment and a single bed in the center. She felt her stomach clench tightly as the nurse sat her down on the bed, strapping her in snugly before stepping back, pulling her ever-present pencil out from behind her ear before hurrying out of the room, leaving her alone.
It didn't take long for the large double doors to reopen, and the man she'd come to associate with everything evil and wrong in the world to come into her view. He smiled at her, his lips thin and pale as he adjusted his glasses, reminding her too much of what her father used to do. That was where the similarities ended, however. His hair was thin and balding, his eyes a bright blue that set her on edge every time she met them with her own dull green ones.
"Miss Bennet," He said by way of greeting, and she felt her hands clench into fists at her sides, her nails digging deep into her own skin. She didn't feel a thing. "I have wonderful news," He said as he stepped closer, inserting an IV in one arm before attending to the other. "I think we've finally found a way to restore your senses."
Her heart seemed to slow in that moment. She'd been told that this had been the goal for weeks now, and though the nurse had mentioned it may have been achieved, she thought nothing of it. She'd said the same for so long that it had lost all meaning; the scientists were incompetent, unable to solve the puzzle of her mind after Sylar had destroyed it. There was no way that they had found a way to fix her; it wasn't possible.
"When you wake, you should be able to feel pressure once more. Pain," he said, and the way his eyes glinted made her stomach churn. "I'll see you soon, Miss Bennet," He said, and she saw the mask come down over her mouth and nose. She pulled hard against the bonds that secured her to the bed, but it did no good. Within moments she was lost.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
They'd always had to run.
Packing and moving was the way her father had tried to solve everything, to hide her from the public eye, from those who might see her for who she truly was. After the night of the carnival, however, they could no longer run.
It was all they could do to keep the media off their lawn. Her father spent most of his time cursing and pacing in front of the door, a gun in his hand and his phone in the other, searching for some way out of the country, some way they could travel without official papers.
"They can't keep us here, Noah," her mother had said, but her father had simply given her a grim smile.
"They can do so much more, Sandra," was all he said.
And they had. Claire had tried to talk to the reporters, to lay bare all the secrets she'd been forced to hide, to evoke understanding and compassion from the general public where fear and hatred was already beginning to form. Her father was vigilant, however, and the few times she managed to leave he always dragged her back, whether she was willing or not.
She'd believed in the sanctity of the government. The company couldn't have them on strings; things were so much larger than the people her father worked for. They were still human beings, still U.S. citizens; they were guilty of no crime.
It turned out that didn't matter. She could clearly remember the night they came for her, dressed in uniforms with guns at their sides. Her father had fought to protect her, risking his own life in the process. She'd seen him shot, blood splattering the wall as he hit it hard before crumpling to the floor. It was his stomach they'd hit, the same spot where he'd taken a bullet for her before, it seemed. She watched through tear-filled eyes as her mother and brother rushed to him, her mother covering his body with her own and her brother meeting her eyes, an accusatory glance in his own. She didn't even know if he'd survived; they'd refused to tell her anything, no matter how much she screamed and kicked and fought.
That night she stopped believing in the sanctity of anything.
X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X_X
Her eyes flew open at the sound of a gunshot.
Her heart slowly returned to its normal pace, the sound unnaturally loud in her own ears. The room was empty save for herself, a pile of bloody rags and scalpels littering the table next to the bed. The sound she'd heard wasn't a gunshot but the slamming of the door, and she waited for her eyes to adjust to the light before looking back at it, waiting for him to return.
It only took her a few moments to remember why she'd been asleep. Panic seized her chest in an iron grip as she searched her body, feeling nothing once more. She pulled her wrists hard against the fabric of the bonds holding her down, but her body was slow to respond to commands, and the force with which she pulled was negligible, not enough to cause pain even if she could feel it. Her body felt as though it were suspended in water, and for a single panicked moment she wondered if he had taken away her ability to feel anything at all.
The door opened suddenly, and he smiled when he saw her eyes open, an image that made her turn away.
"Miss Bennet," He said, and she felt the hairs on her arms rise at the sound of his voice so close to her ear. "I think we've finally done it. Unfortunately, only you can let me know." She heard the clatter of metal next to her, but couldn't seem to find the strength to turn her head to look. "I'm sure you're still foggy from the drugs, but your system should flush them out soon enough. This may be dull, but I'm sure you'll feel something."
She opened her mouth to speak, to protest, to do something, but her lips were dry and cracked and her throat constricted. She heard the clang of metal once more, felt his breath on her cheek as he knelt down, the cool metal pressing hard against the skin of her arm.
It had been a few years since Sylar broke into her home until the carnival, until her capture. She'd felt no pain for those years, and had grown numb, complacent. It wasn't until she found herself here that she began to wish for it again. The things they did to her she had no doubt would have been excruciating, but at least she would have felt them. She'd told her mother long ago that it was the pain that kept her feeling human. And while that was true, at least before she'd had other things to cling to: her family, Gretchen, anyone who she cared enough about to let into her life. They'd kept her human. But once they were gone, she felt nothing. She may as well have been a machine.
She'd longed for the pain, but the panic she felt upon its impending return was like nothing she'd ever felt before. Even with the warning, she was completely unprepared for what she felt when the knife cut into her skin.
It was as though every nerve ending came alive at once. From the tips of her toes to the top of her head she felt as though she were on fire, the center of the flame being the knife that dug deeper and deeper, touching her bone and cutting through her skin like paper. She was burning, dying, suffocating, drowning, choking, all at once. She felt Sylar's fingers in her brain, the pain she'd felt when he sawed open her skull. She remembered every cut and burn she'd endured since her 'gift' first manifested, each one stronger than the last, ending with the knife that was still slicing through her skin. A scream tore itself from her lips, her throat raw and dry and painful. Blood pooled beneath her arm, warming her cold skin and the goose bumps that had sprung up. Even as her skin knitted itself together he tore it open again, pressing harder when she thrashed against the binds holding her down, her muscles stiff and unyielding, her teeth biting down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Her hands burned where her nails dug into them, her throat was on fire with every scream that violently tore itself free.
She could feel tears on her cheeks, taste the salt on her tongue that burned her torn lip as it healed itself once more. The knife was pulled from her skin once it had begun to heal itself around it, and she hated herself for the words that spilled from her lips.
"Please!" She screamed, feeling the blood pool below her arm, the copper smell strong in the air, the taste on her tongue. "STOP!"
Her chest heaved, every breath burning her raw and unused throat, unused to so much exertion at once. Her arm tingled with pins and needles where the knife had entered, and though she knew she had healed, the phantom memory of the pain remained. She was human again, just like she'd wanted.
"Welcome back, Miss Bennet," The doctor said, casually wiping the knife on a rag on the table next to her. "Tomorrow we'll begin where we left off last week. There are some things I'm eager to try, now that you can respond more…effectively."
Claire listened to his footsteps as he left, the door swinging closed behind him. Her tears dried on her skin as she waited, listening for the sound of another voice, another presence. It felt like hours before the nurse returned, averting her eyes from the bloodied bed on which Claire lay. The woman didn't say a word as she led Claire back to her room, nor did Claire speak. She sat down on her bed and watched as the nurse locked the window once more, refilling her water and leaving the glass on the table. She was left free this time, the camera's eyes blinking steadily in the corner to make sure she didn't step out of place.
She listened to the clock ticking on the wall, counted the seconds until her mind began to wander. She found her eyes drawn to the glass cup of water time and time again, her chest tight and burning with something she couldn't identify.
She glanced at the camera out of the corner of her eyes before picking up the glass, throwing it to the ground and watching it shatter, sending shards of glass flying in every direction. She leaned down and picked one up, the sharpened edge glinting in the harsh white light from the bulbs in the ceiling.
"I'm human," She muttered, grasping the shard tightly in her right hand, feeling it cut into her skin before it healed. The pain was clearer now, more acute, and she wondered how bad it would have felt if the doctor had waited before testing out his latest operation.
She pressed the shard hard against the thin and fragile skin of her wrist, gasping slightly at the sudden pain as blood welled up around its tip. She dragged it slowly down the length of her arm, her eyes burning with tears as she cut deeper and deeper, the blood falling steadily onto the ground beneath her feet, quickly forming a pool. The pain was acute; it was real. It gave a certain relief, to be able to feel it once more. Humans felt pain; they didn't touch hot stoves, boiling water, or sharp objects. Their body told them that it would hurt, and they listened. Claire could feel a small, pained smile on her lips as she watched her skin patch itself together, her arm stained a deep red as she brought the glass back to the top, starting again, going deeper.
"Humans bleed," She whispered, watching the blood flow in steady rivulets down her arm. Though they usually avoided pain, they could feel it. She wanted to feel it. She wanted to remember it on her own, before the doctor made her remember himself. She knew what awaited her now; amputations, burns, chemicals, drowning. Everything they'd already done to her, but this time she would be able to feel it all. At least this way, she was in control, something she'd lost long ago. This small remnant was all she had left, and she would take it.
She pressed the shard deeper into her skin, wishing for more than a fleeting moment that the cuts would remain, that her blood would run out and onto the floor and never regenerate. Humans could die, a derisive voice in the back of her mind reminded her. They hurt, they bled, but they also died. It was part of the human condition; it was something she'd never experience.
Perhaps she wasn't so human after all.
To be continued.
