Peter had rushed up the stairs, taking two steps at a time.
He and Sylar had just woken up from the nightmare Parkman had locked them into, and they didn't have a second to waste.
Eli, Samuel's replicating henchman, had been waiting for them, attacking the empath and the former watchmaker in Matt's cellar.
Fortunately, Peter had Matt's and Sylar's powers at his side, so Eli was taken out of the game in seconds.
Now there was only one problem left: Peter was sure he had heard Matt's screams coming from above their heads, as they were fighting with Eli in the basement, so he had left Sylar to keep their enemy at bay, rushing upstairs to find out what the hell was going on.
He had found Matt supine on the floor with what in his eyes as a nurse had immediately appeared as a dislocated knee.
"Matt!" He screamed and ran right away to help him. "Here, have a sit." He had added, placing a stool behind the cop, trying to make him sit as slowly as possible.
"Eli. . . it was Eli. . . " had wheezed Matt, convulsely squeezing his left knee between his fingers, while he let himself fall on the seat.
"Yeah, I know." Was the concise response of the empath, as he began to study his injured leg.
"Just a dislocation." He had confirmed, letting go of his calf and putting it in a resting position.
"Ah, fantastic. . . " had growled Matt in pain, tight-lipped.
Suddenly, Eli's fainted body had smashed onto the floor beside them, followed in great career by Sylar, who had presented himself in all his telekinetic glory in the room.
"What the hell is he doing here?!" The former policeman had roared immediately, almost trying to jump on his feet, but immediately rethinking it after a violent fit. "I trapped him in a nightmare! It's impossible. . . YOU did it!" He had accused Peter, piercing him with his eyes.
"It's a long story. . ." had attempted the nurse, but Sylar had instantly talked along with him, repeating his own identical sentence.
Peter had slightly arched an eyebrow in the direction of the former killer, but he seemed to be too busy keeping an eye on Parkman to notice him.
"Matt." Peter called him back "what we need now is to know where Samuel is and what he's up to. There's no time for this."
"A lot of people are in danger." Sylar had added, worried.
Peter had launched another look at him: he wasn't sure that it was a good idea to let him talk so much at that moment, in the end it was Matt who had trapped him in his mind, and from the way he had received him, a few moments earlier, his opinion hadn't really changed in those nine hours.
"You've got to read into his mind, Matt." He tried to steer the speech in the right direction, pointing at Eli. "Tell us what you see."
"Why?" Parkman had hissed, snapping like a doberman at him. "So you two pals can take off being superheroes together? Come on, Peter!" he had opposed, but the empath had already given him his back to go and crouch next to Eli's inert body.
"When you want something done right. . . " he murmured sarcastically, completing the proverb in his mind ". . . you have to do it yourself".
As if he had read his thoughts, Sylar, behind him, had telekinetically rotated Eli over himself, until he had his head pointed towards Peter's face, as to make it easier for him to pry into his brain.
Peter still had Matt's power after all.
Exhaling almost all the air he had in his lungs, Peter nodded to himself, closing his eyes to concentrate on the mind of the replicant lying before him.
Immediately thoughts began to flow in his mind, like a river to the sea.
"Samuel will show the world his powers. . . in New York City. . . " he said, almost without realizing it, like in a strange state of trance "...in Central Park, TONIGHT!"
He turned around, instinctively looking for Sylar. It was close, too close, they had to do something!
Emma was in danger.
Sylar had blinked slightly, while a strange sparkle passed through his pupils, but it was only a fraction of a second before the worried expression regained its position on his face and said: "What does it mean that Samuel will show his powers to the world?"
Peter stood up and watched him, the same concern reflected in his dark irises.
"He will open the ground and bury them all." He replied, feeling suddenly a big lump in his throat.
"Shit. . ." Sylar had cursed in a whisper. "It would seem almost like one of my old plans. . ." his voice cut in the middle of the sentence, realizing what he had just said.
Despite the unhappy joke, Peter had flashed one of his asymmetrical smiles to him, while Matt had incinerated him with his eyes, roaring: "OLD?! Don't make us laugh, you fucking creep..."
Sylar had folded back on himself under those words, taking an uncertain step towards the former policeman with a wounded expression.
"I'm not that person anymore, Matt. . . I don't. . . I don't expect you to understand, but. . ."
Parkman's countenance had remained unshakably glacial, causing his words to die in his throat, when Peter had gently touched him on one shoulder to draw his attention.
"Come on, they need our help."
Sylar was almost on the move when Matt tackled them where they were.
"If you leave with this murdered, many people will die and the blame will be on YOU, Peter. I can't let that happen!"
Peter in response had shaken his head negatively, completely ignoring the telepath, giving instead another light blow to Sylar's back.
"Let's go"he had whispered, pulling him away, but the former killer had turned around and shouted him:
"I'M NOT GOING ANYWHERE!"
The empath had barred his eyes, astounded.
"What the hell are you talking about?!" He asked him, resentful.
"It was me." Matt piped up with a knowing smirk. "See? I can still affect other people's thoughts. I told you, Peter, I have no intention of letting him out of here."
Peter got his hands in his hair, sending an exasperated cry. They were just wasting precious time!
"What the HELL, Matt!" He screamed at him, clenching his fists so hard that he could feel the blood dripping between his palms.
"Sylar killed your brother Peter, he killed NATHAN!"
Peter had taken the hit with evident difficulty, as Sylar had not been able to avoid noticing.
"I made amends for it." He had murmured, feeling more like a monster than ever. Peter was in pain, he was hurting, and it was all his fault.
"Yeah, right, when did it happen? During the nightmare I trapped you in? How long did it last, a couple of hours?" The other one had mocked him.
Sylar had opened his mouth to destroy him, but Peter incredibly interfered in the verbal confrontation, saying in his classic docile tone:
"It's been different for us Matt, it's been five YEARS. Look, we can stop Samuel. We know his plan!"
"I don't expect you to understand what happened in the nightmare." Sylar had nodded, encouraged by the words of the nurse. "Nor to forgive me..."
"Good, because it will NEVER happen! - It was the answer of Parkman, who was looking at him more and more disgusted.
"Matt, please! I made a mistake, I made so many mistakes. . . this is my chance to redeem myself. Let me do it!" The former killer had begged him, surprising himself with his miserable tone. The truth was, he really wanted Matt to trust him, because he'd really changed, maybe too much.
There was only one way.
"Get in my head. Look at my thoughts and you'll see that I'm not lying." He had invited the telepath without hesitation.
He wasn't afraid of him, he wasn't afraid of anything anymore.
Matt had looked at him , vaguely shaking his head, reticent. He had cast a glance at Peter, who had nodded encouragingly.
The former policeman had let out a big sigh, slowly closing his eyes, abandoning himself to his power.
Sylar had felt him come in, had sensed the intrusion, but hadn't stopped him, although he almost certainly could have.
He had felt him digging violently, in the meanders of his own while, looking in every corner, studying every detail. When the search turned out to be unsuccessful, Matt continued to dig, undaunted, reaching memories that had remained dormant since his childhood. A dark attic. A dirty old mattress. Smells like dust and old books. The old clock that was always running two minutes late.
"See?" he thought, knowing that Matt would hear it. "That's it. See that, Matt?"
"What I see is the chaos of your perverse mind. Not of your heart." The telepath had replied coldly , moving from the area of his childhood memories to go digging elsewhere.
"What' s this? " He then asked when he suddenly found himself in front of a door made of bricks, very similar to the ones he'd used to build the wall down in the basement.
Sylar had felt panic surge in his guts.
"No. . . " had been shouting in his mind. "No! Not that!"
"What the hell is in there, you bastard!" The other one had screamed, knowing that he had managed to uncover something.
"Matt?" Peter had called, alarmed. Sylar had felt his gentle touch on his arm, while his voice had arrived as something distant, something indefinite.
"Let me see." Matt had commanded, using his power to the fullest.
"No. . . I don't want to!" The watchmaker refused, raising every single possible barrier in front of that one door.
He didn't think he had that memory still with him, he had promised to remove it from his mind, to close it in the most remote corner of his being, and yet there it was, brazen as a kick on the teeth, that mocked and threatened him in all his greatness. "Let me SEE, I said!" Had imposed Matt, collapsing one by one all his defenses, until he'd reached the bricks on the door, which had crumbled like dust under his telepathic fingers.
"Matt! Noo. . . " Sylar kept screaming desperately, but it was too late. He was already in.
Parkman had looked around, surprised at how the atmosphere had suddenly changed: there was an incredible silence there, in what seemed to be the apartment that he'd recreated a few hours earlier in the killer's mind, when he had trapped him inside.
The numerous clocks were the only sound that marked the passage of time, while everything else remaineunchanged. The living room where the watchmaker's work tools lay unused seemed deserted, as did the narrow kitchen, with the abandoned coffee in two cups on the side of one of the shelves, and the bedroom, where the sheets slept motionlessly over the cushions, perfectly matching.
Matt was almost about to give up figuring out what the hell was going on, or what that memory should be about, when a smothered thud had come from the only room with the door ajar.
Matt knew far too well that room had to be Sylar's biggest warning, because it was what his mother's bedroom had been. He knew well the fear that Sylar felt even just remembering it, he had read it in his mind, before building that fake world, so when it came to finding yet another instrument of torture, he had not hesitated to use it.
He had pushed the door inward, entering, but nothing would ever have prepared him for the scene he was witnessing now.
Peter was lying supine on the huge bed of mahogany, asleep, the blankets entangled with the trousers of his pajamas, the T-shirt raised slightly to discover an imperceptible corner of his navel.
His hair had fallen into a rebellious mass on his forehead, while his eyelids remained closed on his dark eyes, his long eyelashes caressing his high cheekbones. The mouth was relaxed, devoid of the classic asymmetry that characterized it when he was awake and the left arm was raised, the hand open next to the face asleep.
Matt had diverted his attention from Peter only when he had heard another noise coming from his left.
Sylar was sitting at the foot of the bed.
Alarmed, Matt had almost instinctively called Peter, when Sylar had slowly moved across the twisted bedspread to get closer to the empath.
He had stretched his left hand very slowly towards him, panting slightly, moving his rebellious strand of hair from his forehead, with a delicacy that would have surprised anyone who had witness it.
Afterwards, he had placed his palm on one of Peter's exposed hips, caressing him lightly.
Matt had been shocked by the scene, while Sylar had folded back as if in slow motion on top of Peter, stopping to briefly smell the space between his neck and ear, before immobilizing himself a few inches from his face.
His hand had reprised its journey across the other one's body, crawling towards the chin of the sleeping man, who had whispered some inconsistent words in his sleep, turning him in his direction. Sylar had slowly closed the remaining gap between them, kissing Peter lightly on the mouth, letting go of a breath, when he had managed to detach himself, which he had no idea he had held back.
He had once again observed the expression of the nurse, who seemed to have remained unfazed and continued his sleep undisturbed, sighing softly.
"I love you, Peter." He had finally whispered to him, so low that Matt would've almost believed to have misheard him, had it not been for the unequivocal feeling in his pupils.
Sylar had then turned around, with Peter still in his arms, and shouted him: "Get THE FUCK out of my head!" and Matt had felt thrown out of the mind of the former killer, until he'd found himself again in the real world.
He had blinked a couple of times, unable to elaborate what he had just seen.
In front of him, Sylar, with Peter still holding him by the arm, was staring back at him with a defeated look.