Lyle glanced down the chasm before him and wondered how he had come to be here. He remembered it all, even the parts that dark skinned man had erased. When he'd come into his powers he'd wished for all his memories back.

That was his power, if it could be called that. The power of wish fulfilment. It was pretty cool, except when he wished for something physical. That was usually accompanied by pink sparks or puffs of smoke. Very embarrassing.

He sighed. While his sister (who wasn't actually his sister; he'd suspected as much) had gone off to New York to 'save the world' and Dad followed, to clean up after her as he usually did, Lyle had sat home (which was a motel room, because Dad had, indirectly, burnt the house down), bored stiff. That was, until something had happened that had changed his entire life.

He smiled at the memory. He'd just been sitting on the sofa, minding his own business. Mom had come along and told him that she was taking Mr. Muggles to his appointment at the dog beauty therapist. She'd left. Lyle had always wondered at his mom's obsession with that Pomeranian; it seemed as though he was compensating for Dad's many absences. But that was just a thought.

He had watched TV for awhile but, as was usually the case, there was nothing interesting on. He glanced over at the remote, all the way on the other side of the room. How had it got over there?

It was as though the remote had read his thoughts. One minute it had been on the other side of the room, the next it was beside him.

"What the-" he'd muttered, in shock. Since it could have just been his imagination (the remote could have been beside all the time) he'd decided to wish for something that could only happen in some weird alternate dimension.

I wish that Buffy Summers would appear in front of the TV, he'd thought, closing his eyes for good measure.

When he'd opened them Buffy Summers was not standing in front of the TV.

"Damn," he'd muttered, not really that surprised but somehow disappointed.

And then she was, appearing in a puff of smoke.

"Where am I?" she'd said, freaked. Spotting the dumbfounded Lyle she'd asked, "What the hell have done to me, you little pipsqueak?"

Lyle had wondered why her quips weren't as razor sharp as they usually were but put that down to being in a strange situation. Since the experiment had worked as well as the fact that Buffy was starting to look mighty pissed Lyle had wished her back to where she belonged.

He thought about what this all meant. Maybe I have a power like Claire, except not as stupid, he'd thought. I wonder what else I can do.

Lyle smiled, remembering what he had done. Scaling the Eiffel Tower, visiting the site of Area 51 and meeting his favourite characters from TV were just a few of them.

He'd decided not to tell his parents. One known super powered kid in the family was enough. He didn't want to put his mother through any more stressful situations like Claire and Dad had done. So he was basically on his own, in figuring out just what his powers actually entailed.

He grimaced as he remembered the first time the pink sparks had made their appearance. He'd stopped a bus from crashing into the side of the road. Secretly, of course; he'd even worn a mask, just in case. Instead of just letting him catch the bus without a fuss pink sparks had issued from his hands and stopped the bus before it tilted onto its side. Very embarrassing. He'd never liked pink and this just deepened that hatred.

But he couldn't help it. Just as he had to live with the fact that his dad loved Claire more than him he also had to live with the pink sparks. That was really the only downfall of the power.

And that he had to be careful what he wished for, as the cliché went. He decided early on that he would never wish for something (like his father's love) that would affect someone's free will. He knew that much from watching TV and reading comics. He also knew that wishes had to be said right. You could rush a wish.

Many adventures later Lyle found himself on the edge of the Grand Canyon. He'd been following a super powered villain, who'd murdered some many people. Rather than just believe that the guy was bad he'd researched him. Apparently the guy had been adopted and his parents had never told him. Then Dad had come along and forced him to become a serial killer. Sometimes he did not understand the things Dad did. Scratch that. He never understood.

The guy had then been manipulated by Claire's biological grandparents into believing that they were his parents. Lyle had met the grandmother. He sympathised with Sylar, as he called himself. No wonder he was messed up.

"Why are you following me?" a deep voice said from behind him. Lyle turned.

My God, he thought, the guy has humungous eyebrows.

Lyle looked at Sylar, who looked back.

Sylar smiled, as though he could not believe what he was seeing. "Dressing up as a superhero? That's a new one."

Lyle glared at him. "I am not dressing up as a superhero. I am a superhero. There is a difference...Namely the words 'dressing up as.'"

Sylar tried not to laugh.

"Haven't you heard of me? The Souhaiter?" Lyle asked, the sympathy he had been harbouring quickly disappearing.

Sylar looked surprised, and a little scared. "That's you? I thought you'd be...older?"

"Most people do."

"Why are you following me, then?" Sylar repeated, backing away slowly. He'd heard of the Souhaiter (the French verb for to wish). None of it had been good, at least when concerning him.

"I've wanted to met you for awhile. I've heard many things about you," Lyle replied.

Sylar looked like he didn't believe him.

"No, I really mean it," Lyle tried reassure him. "Why exactly do you go around killing people for their powers when you can just get them empathetically?"

Sylar shrugged. "I'm a monster. It's what I do."

Lyle was puzzled. "Who told you that you were a monster?"

He looked surprised. Obviously he'd never been asked this question before. "Everyone."

"And do you think you're a monster?"

"Yes," Sylar said, disgusted, not with Lyle, but with himself. "I am a monster."

"Hmm...interesting," Lyle commented, noting something down in a notebook that had just appeared.

"You know, I'm starting to feel as though I'm with a psyhciatrist," Sylar said, starting to look nervous. This gave him pause for thought. When was the last time he'd felt nervous? "Maybe I should just take your power. What exactly is your power?"

"Now that would be telling," Lyle said wagging gis fingers at the super powered serial killer before him. "And why would I want to tell you anyway? So you're just giving into what you believe is your nature?" he added, changing the subject.

Sylar was caught off-guard and answered truthfully. "Yes. But—"

Before he could continue Lyle interrupted with, "And your nature is what people say it is. Obviously you believe what they say." Lyle looked slightly disgusted. And then changed tact again. "Do you ever wish that you weren't a monster?"

Sylar looked wistful. "Every day."

Lyle grinned wickedly. "Your wish is my command!" He clicked his fingers. Not for any particular reason. Only because it made for a good effect.

Nothing appeared to happen and Sylar looked puzzled. "What...?"

His mouth widening into a sort of Cheshire Cat grin, Lyle said, "Try using your powers."

Sylar did. Nothing. He tried again. Nothing. "What did you do to me?" he asked getting increasingly more frustrated with every failed attempt.

"I took away your powers. Of course that doesn't erase all of the evil you've done but you can work on that. You know, for every person you've ruined the life of or murdered help two strangers. Something like that. God!," he added to himself. "I feel like I'm some sort of good fairy or something." He shuddered at the thought.

Sylar still look confused.

Lyle gave a frustrated sigh. 'This is what is called a second chance. Although in your case," he added thoughtfully. "It would be more life a third or fourth chance. You're the one who wished he wasn't a monster.

"Look," he said as Sylar continued to look puzzled. "It's like the whole weight thing. It's very easy to put on weight – i.e. to do evil – but it's very hard to lose weight – i.e. to do good. I mean, you have to exercise regularly and eat the right food. To put on weight you just have to sit in front of the TV and eat junk food. Get it?"

"I think so," Sylar said, still trying to get his head around the weight analogy. "What if I kill again? What then?"

Lyle smiled sadly. "Then I'd have no choice but to kill you. And I really don't want to do that because you seem like a nice person but," he sighed, "a guy's got to do what a guy's got to do."

Sylar shook his hand. "I promise I'll try."

Lyle couldn't resist. "There is not try. There is only do," he said solemnly.

Sylar, at first puzzled, after a few minutes began to laugh.

Sylar succeeded in redeeming himself although it was difficult and he had to leave America to do it. A few years later he met Elle, who had been found and resurrected by Zack. After talking for a few hours (something Rebecca, the woman she was staying with could attest to) they parted as friends.

Lyle continued in his guise as the Souhaiter. He rarely spoke to his family, and they never guessed his secret. Having met Monica, who was disguised as a superhero in New Orleans, he found a true partner.

THE END