Aquafina.

That's what Claire was reading over and over again as she lay there. That one word, printed on the bottle of water she had placed next to the bed. She hadn't slept in days, which was how long she'd been in that hotel room. She was now in Oklahoma, trying to think of where she wanted to go next.

She had called her father.

She heard his customary, business-like greeting when he picked up the phone, but she shut her eyes and hung up. She didn't know what to say to him. He'd let her go try to reform a serial killer, who had now left her and was probably back to his old ways. Was her father happy? She'd like to think so. She wanted to believe that with her and her complicated existence out of his life, he and her mother and brother had moved on to the serene, tolerable lives they deserved.

But Claire longed for home. She wanted something familiar to hold to her, even if it was just for a little while. She smiled now when she remembered that Zach had called it "sentimental rewinding."

Then she sat up in bed, and decided what to do. Throwing on jeans and a t shirt, she went down to the lobby and told them she was checking out early. Then she got into her car and headed south.

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He was standing on the roof of a generic office building, looking down at the cars and people passing by. He was thinking of how many of them might have incredible abilities, as yet undiscovered, or repressed and denied.

Sylar still thought there were far too many mediocre people in the world. Even so, they were…people to him now, people unto themselves, not just a means to an end. Claire had made him think that way.

And in that moment, in his own self-perception of mediocrity, he wished with everything he had that he could remove that mind-set.

He was staring out into the night sky, a blue black with just a few whisps of white cloud. Then a bright flash of light hit the sky and he squinted in reaction. Lightning. Sylar knew he'd have to get off of the roof soon. He reconsidered that after he realized that the bursts of electricity were not stretching across the sky, but were rather originating from a particular place in the city. Sylar drew closer to the edge of the ledge, and stared. With his advanced vision he pinpointed the exact neighborhood where the lightning was coming from. Intrigued, he went off in pursuit of the thing—or, most likely, the person—who was responsible.

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Claire could feel her heart pounding as the highway sign for Odessa came into view. It really hadn't been that long since she'd been there, but it almost felt like she was returning to her girlhood home as an adult. She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror and realized that while she hadn't aged, she was definitely not the happy, pretty, popular teenage girl she'd been.

She was tired, but she didn't want to check into a hotel just yet. There was something she had to see first.

They still hadn't built a new house where her old one had stood. She had thought about it, and she was sure it would have hurt her the most if there was a brand new house and a new family living there. But seeing the withered, grey earth, the glass, wood and metal shards that had once been her home, still smelling the faint scent of fire and destruction—it was probably one of the saddest things she'd ever seen. She took a deep breath and drove on.

And then she was there. The place that she once considered her entire world, the place where she first met Peter…and Sylar. It was where she saw her friend die, where she found her best friend. She parked the car to the side of the road and looked over at the field, where the track team was practicing. The yellow buses were still lined up; she had always wondered why some of them lingered after school was done for the day. She sat in the car, staring out into space, until the sounds of laughter broke her reverie. A couple of girls (freshman year, Claire estimated by their appearance) walked by on the sidewalk, holding their schoolbooks and complaining about their lives. What they didn't realize is that they were actually enjoying their best years. Claire mentally slapped herself for thinking that way. She was eighteen, not eighty. Why should she feel so old when she wasn't?

Just to prove that she wasn't old, she got out of her car and decided to walk into the school. Naturally she'd be mistaken for a student by anyone who happened to still be in there. And she was glad to know that anyone who might have known her probably had left for the day.

The halls were long and empty. Claire walked through them, slowly, as if moving in a dream. She stopped only to look at the shrine they had set up as a memorial to Jackie. Claire closed her eyes and remembered that night, the night when a man shrouded in darkness stalked her and Jackie. The man caught Jackie by the throat and made a neat cut across her head. When Claire tried to stop him, she was thrown against the metal lockers and mangled badly.

She stopped herself from thinking about it and backed away from the display. There was nothing for her here; she didn't know why she had come back. Then again, she wasn't sure there was anything for her anywhere, but she was wasting her time.

She sighed and began to walk out of the school. She was nearly at the exit when she heard a familiar voice call behind her. "Claire?"

She stopped and slowly turned around, then gasped in recognition. "Zach?"

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He had approximated where the lightning had come from, only to find that the lightning was gone, now replaced with the rumbling and shuddering that comes with an earthquake. Not wanting to feel the ground move under his feet, Sylar used his telekinesis to hover above it. Traveling in the shadows, he finally came to an alleyway where the tremors seemed to be their strongest.

There was someone standing there, their back to him, arms outstretched. Sylar couldn't determine the sex of the person, but he knew they were small-framed. He drew closer, as close as he could without tipping off the person of his presence.

But the person now shifted from creating earthquakes to creating mini-tornados. The sudden force of wind knocked Sylar out of his telekinetic hover and brought him to the ground with a thud.

The person turned around and Sylar gasped. It was Claire!

No, it wasn't, he quickly realized. The girl just resembled her. About the same height and similar facial features, but hair a darker shade of blonde and eyes that were brown instead of blue. Those brown eyes widened in fear, and she backed away from him, further into the darkness of the alley.

"It's all right," he called out. "You didn't scare me. I'm like you."

There was a long silence; so long, in fact, that Sylar wondered if the girl had somehow been able to escape without his knowing. But then he heard a soft voice say, "No one is like me."

"Well, no, my powers are different from yours," Sylar responded, walking further into the alley. "But I understand what it's like to be…special," Sylar thought about it, and added, "and I can help you."

The girl emerged from the darkness tentatively. "You can't help me. I destroy things with my power."

Sylar wet his lips. "You just need to control it. I can show you." He dared to walk closer. He had to get the girl to trust him, allow him to get nearer.

She held up her hand, electricity crackling from her fingertips. The alleyway was now lit up from the light. "Stand back," she demanded.

Sylar held up his hands and backed away. He was pretty sure he could subdue her if he wanted, but he wasn't going to take that chance. "I'm no threat to you," he said, hoping it sounded sincere. "What's your name?"

The girl stared at him for a while. Then she finally replied, "Gretchen."

"Gretchen," Sylar repeated with a smile. "I'm Gabriel."

He now saw that the electricity from her hands was beginning to dissipate, and they were once again in the shadows of the night.

"So…you have the power to create and control natural phenomena, like earthquakes and lightning," Sylar said.

"Create, yes," the girl whispered. "Control? Not as much."

"Well, Gretchen," Sylar replied, his trademark smirk hidden in the darkness, "I can do something about that." He stepped toward her.

Gretchen screamed and a bolt of lightning hit Sylar's chest. He groaned and collapsed to the ground, smoke pouring off of him. She braced herself against the brick wall, then, gathering her courage, ran away as fast as she could, leaving her victim in the shadows of the alley.

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"Claire!" Zach repeated, running to her. The next thing she knew, she was enveloped in a hug, and she couldn't help but laugh at the joy she now felt.

"Where the hell have you been?" Zach said softly in her ear, then released her.

Claire wiped her eyes as nonchalantly as she could. She sighed, looking at him. "Everywhere," was the only answer she could manage.

Zach now shifted from looking elated to looking angry. "You just took up and left nearly a year ago now, no explanation, no goodbye, nothing! So much for you giving a shit," he said with real vitriol in his voice.

Claire swallowed. "I know. I'm really sorry. But a lot of things happened, and my dad thought it was for the best that we not tell anyone that we were leaving."

Zach's expression changed from genuine hurt and anger to quiet resentment. "So, you and your family are back then?" he asked, beginning to walk out of the school.

"No, just me," Claire replied, now following him. "That's part of why I needed to leave. I…I live a completely different life than I did before."

"Yeah, sure whatever," Zach said with a hint of bitterness. "Well, it was nice of you to come by and say hi."

Claire's eyes widened. "I wasn't just coming by! I wanted to see my home."

"Then how long are you in town?"

She shrugged. "I don't really have anywhere else to go."

"Huh," Zach snorted. "Well, I have to walk home; my mom needed the car, and she couldn't pick me up from school so I've been working on a video project. If you want to walk home with me….I guess that's cool."

Claire smiled. "That won't be necessary."

"Damn! That's a smokin' car!" Zach exclaimed when he saw the blue and silver mustang.

"Why thank you," Claire gushed, and started the engine.

"So how did you get a car this hot?" Zach asked when they were nearing his house.

Claire froze inside. She had been dreading explaining this to Zach, because it would mean having to explain Sylar. She had to decide quickly. She would tell him as much as she could without bringing her ex-partner into the story.

She took a deep breath. "After I left Odessa, my family and I moved to Washington state. It was then that I was—'recruited' is the word I guess—by a man named Mr. Nakamura."

"For what?"

"He asked me to travel, helping others with abilities like me. He gave me this car to use, and money to live on."

"And—and you just left your home? Your family?"

Claire gripped the steering wheel. "It wasn't easy for me. I did it so that they could have normal, quiet lives. That wasn't going to happen with me there."

Zach sighed. "And you couldn't have told me all this? I thought I was your friend!"

"You are my friend!" Claire cried. "I just…well, I didn't want to ruin your life."

They had now pulled up to Zach's house and were about to walk in. Zach walked up to Claire and laid his hand on her arm. She looked down on his hand, then at him.

"You could never ruin my life, Claire," Zach said gently. "It really wasn't anything…until you came along." With that, he let go of her arm and walked into the house. Claire felt herself blush and followed.

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When he opened his eyes, he found himself standing in the desert. The air was hot and swirling about him, the sky blue and flaming. Squinting at the sun, he put his hand to his head to shield himself and began to walk. As he walked, he tried to remember exactly how he had gotten there. His mind was a blur, and being in this place didn't help. It was almost as if everything that was right and important and rational meant nothing here.

He had walked for what seemed to be a long time when he noticed people standing in the distance. He narrowed his eyes and focused on them. Were they real, or a mirage? Did it matter?

As he drew closer, he thought he recognized some of them. He didn't know how he would know them, but their faces were familiar. And they seemed to know him too. They were all staring at him with a mixture of fury, fear, and pain.

There was a young man, with dirty blonde hair. A slim young woman with light brown hair and doe eyes. A heavy set woman in work clothes. A man in his late thirties with glasses and a meek look. A man with a dark menacing look on his face and shoulder length brown hair. A lean framed man with dark hair and a moustache.

He felt dread settle in the pit of his stomach. He didn't know what to say to these people. He was now within speaking distance of them. They hadn't changed their stances, or the looks on their faces. They were so stoic he wondered if they could even see him.

But they could. One of the men, the one with long brown hair, walked toward him and, without warning, pushed him hard into the sand.

He fell hard against the sand, groaning. Why had that man done that?

The pretty young woman was at his side, looking deeply into his face. "He doesn't remember us," she told her companions.

"I'll make him remember," the man who had pushed him said. He squatted next to him. "Surely the great Sylar will remember the people he killed?"

"He went through so much trouble to find us and take what wasn't his," the heavyset woman piped up. "How could he forget?"

Finally he found his voice. "I don't—I don't understand. Who are you? Who am I?"

With that, the heavyset woman kicked him in the stomach. He cried and doubled up in the fetal position. The doe-eyed girl gently stroked his forehead.

"Don't you remember, Sylar? You sliced open my head in the diner I worked in. I never did anything to you; I didn't even know you. But my life meant so little to you that you had no problems with taking it away from me."

He shuddered. "Charlie," he whispered. "Your name is Charlie."

Then the man who had first pushed him grabbed him by the neck and brought him to his feet. "Do you remember my name, asshole?" he demanded.

He stared into the fiery eyes of the other man. "No."

The man let him go and laughed. "He doesn't remember! Well, maybe we should show him."

The man stretched his hand over the open wasteland of the desert. And then he was in a city, one that seemed familiar. He was just standing in the middle of the road. There was an armored truck riding towards him, and for some reason, he had the urge to stretch out his hand, and as soon as he did the truck tipped over and screeched toward him. He moved his hand again and the back door of the truck opened. And there was the man who had pushed him, hanging upside down in his seat, crying in pain and struggling to get out.

"Ugh! Now do you remember, asshole? This is the part where you cut my head open and take my power!" the man cried out.

He backed away in horror. Had he really done this? He couldn't believe it. But it was so familiar to him.

He closed his eyes tightly and turned away. "Stop it. Make it go away."

"Sylar," a man's voice began. He opened his eyes to find himself back in the desert and the dark, lean man standing next to him. "When you killed me, I knew you were coming. I was expecting you. I could paint the future, and I knew I was going to die."

They kept calling him "Sylar." Was that his name? Why couldn't he remember?

The blond haired man now stood next to him. "You are a master of disguise. You pretended to be Mohinder Suresh to gain my trust. Then you killed me and pretended to be me for a while. You took a part of all of us. You are us, and we are you."

"No," he whimpered. "I couldn't do something like that." He slowly got to his feet, standing inside of a circle made up of them. They were looking at him with hungry looks like their eyes, like they planned to eat him.

"You liked devouring our souls and minds," the man with glasses said. "We couldn't escape you. And now, you can't escape us."

They began to close in on him.

"No!" he screamed. "No! Get away from me!" He tried to escape them, but there were just too many.

"Please! Have mercy!" he cried.

"The same mercy you showed us?" Charlie asked him.

They tore at his flesh with their teeth and nails. He bellowed in agony as they tore his arm from this socket, ripped his leg at the knee. He fell to the ground and they began to cut him open, pulling out his entrails. Through it all, their faces were painted with expressions with calm, quiet pain. It was as if they couldn't hear his cries.

He couldn't believe he was still alive, but somehow he was. And just when he thought there would be nothing left of him for them to tear at, another figure appeared, cloaked in darkness.

The person held out their finger, and with that, all the people terrorizing him flew to the far reaches of the desert. Panting, his head swimming from it all, he finally looked down at himself and saw that he was whole. Then he looked up at the person who had saved him.

The person stood above him, still in the shadows. Then he extended his hand and helped him up.

Once he was at eye level with his rescuer, he gasped when he saw who it was. It was—it was—himself!

His reflection smirked at him. "Hello, Gabriel. Remember me?"