Doc offers Sylar a job one he would be perfect for.
Sylar meets another town citizen.
I do not own Heroes.
High Noon Showdown Part Three
Sylar had anything but a restful sleep. His tall frame was too long for the bed. The best he could do was to lie diagonally across it, but that was only part of the problem. These beds were made with springs. Large metal springs that made loud squeaking noises every time he shifted position. After tossing and turning for an hour, he lay on his back, sighing deeply, his hands pressed against his eyes.
Damn!
It was another hour before he finally drifted off to sleep. It seemed like just a few minutes later, when he was awakened by the sound of a rooster crowing. So it wasn't a bad dream. He really was in the past. And he had to meet Doc for breakfast.
Sylar got out of bed, dressed and headed for the bathroom. He hated taking a bath and putting his dusty things back on, so he just washed up, and headed downstairs. Mrs Lawson saw him and told him that he'd missed breakfast.
"Funeral this morning. But I'll be happy to fix you up something when I get back." She felt bad that her new tenant wasn't going to be able to eat because of the service for the sheriff.
Sylar groaned when his stomach rumbled its emptiness. Would he be able to wait until Doc returned? He'd said they would be having breakfast, but how long would the funeral take? He was surprised to see Mrs Lawson come up and hand something to him. It was a napkin. When he opened it, he saw two rather large biscuits inside.
"That'll tide you over, until you can eat later, once the café has opened." She patted the hand that held the napkin, and went to her room to finish getting ready.
Sylar noticed the freshness of the still warm biscuits, and taking one, bit into it, savoring the flavor and moistness. He'd had nothing like this back home. Leaving the hotel, he stepped outside, the early morning sunlight causing him to squint. Indoor lighting upstairs depended on oil lamps and wall sconces, although the downstairs areas seemed to have electricity. He wished he'd had a pair of sunglasses.
Finishing Mrs Lawson's biscuits, he headed for Doc's office, and knocked lightly on the door. He pushed it open and stuck his head in. "Doc?"
"Sylar, come in. I'm almost finished with Sheriff Dagget." Doc was busy making final adjustments to the body lying in the simple wood coffin.
Sylar saw two men standing to the side, waiting. He watched while Doc told them they could go now. As soon as they left with the coffin, Sylar asked, " When is the service?"
Doc washed his hands in a small sink near an examination bed. "In 15 minutes. Will you be coming?" He rolled down his sleeves, buttoning the cuffs as he waited for Sylar to answer.
"I...didn't really know the sheriff." Sylar had killed many people, but he had never stuck around for the subsequent funerals. They made him uncomfortable anyway.
"Suit yourself. As soon as it's over and the cafe opens, I'll meet you for breakfast. Then we can go to the mercantile and get you some supplies." Doc dampened his black hair, dried it on a small towel, and brushed a comb through it. Grabbing his coat, he gestured to Sylar. "Let's go."
The two men went out into the street, where Sylar saw several townspeople all heading in the same direction. Men, women and children, nicely dressed and very solemn. "Doc, I'll hang out here in town, check things out until you get back."
Doc squeezed Sylar's shoulder. "I won't be that long." He turned and joined a group heading for the town cemetery.
Sylar walked down the middle of the street, scanning both sides to see what was in the mostly wood-made buildings. If something caught his eye, he would go over and peek inside the windows. Seemed the entire town had shut down for the funeral. Living in New York City meant being surrounded by hundreds of people daily. And with his lifestyle, he rarely bothered to get to know anyone who didn't have something he wanted. But here, in this small town, everyone seemed to act as a whole. The fact that everything was shut down for a funeral illustrated that fact.
The warm sun had dried most of the puddles, but Sylar wondered if he'd be able to get a pair of western boots to replace his modern shoes. Would he be able to find any clothes for that matter. He wasn't a big man but tall, and that might cause problems, since many of the people he'd met were shorter then the average person in his time.
He headed toward the stable, and wondered if he should purchase a horse. He'd never ridden one. The very idea made him cringe. He could walk, run, even fly but riding a horse...
As he walked down the alleyway between the stable and the building next to it, he heard a sound behind him. The cocking of a pistol. "Are you going to shoot me in the back, Rafe? That's not very wise." Sylar didn't have to turn around to know who it was, and that he was going to do just that. He heard the sound of a gun being discharged. Turning around to face Rafe, he watched as the bullets hung in the air and dropped to the ground at his feet.
Rafe couldn't believe what he saw. The bullets from his gun not only didn't hit their mark, but seemed to hit an invisible wall, not doing the stranger any harm. He raised his hand again, sending the last two bullets from his six-shooter straight for his target. Again he watched as they fell impotently to the ground.
Sylar thrust out his arm and sent Rafe flying back twenty feet, the frightened man landing on his back in the drying mud. He watched as his opponent advanced on him. He stood over him, creating a shadow that blocked out the sun. Rafe tried to edge backwards, but the muck made it difficult for him to move, as his hands kept slipping. "What...what are you?"
"I'm not a what, I'm a who. And the name is Sylar." As fun as it was, toying with Rafe, he felt he better keep his distance for now. He turned on his heel and headed for Doc's office. He'd wait there until Doc returned.
Rafe sat in the street, still stunned. His eyes searched for his gun, which had flown from his hand when...when whatever that was that happened to him. He scrabbled up out of the mud, and picking up his gun, ran. He'd think about what to do, later. It never occurred to Rafe to leave town. Getting even was the only thing on his mind.
Sylar walked over to Doc's office, and went in. He couldn't stop grinning, thinking back on the look Rafe gave him. Now that was more like it. What Sylar didn't know was that Doc had just turned the far corner of the stables, when he saw Rafe shoot Sylar in the back. In one instant, he knew the man was dead, then saw he wasn't. The bullets had frozen mid-air, and dropped harmlessly to the ground at Sylar's feet. He had been returning from the service for Sheriff Dagget, and had heard voices. Doc stopped in his tracks. He hadn't realized that he wasn't breathing until he suddenly found himself gasping for air. He threw his hand over his mouth. No need to give himself away. His shock only intensified when he saw Sylar thrust out his arm towards Rafe, and Rafe went flying. So the stories he'd heard today might not be the alcohol-induced imaginings he had figured them to be. He really wanted to speak with Sylar now.
Doc waited until Sylar had left, and Rafe had run off down the street. He followed Sylar, noticing him going into his own office. He counted to twenty, then went inside. "Hello," he said, trying to act surprised by the man's presence.
"Hi, Doc. I hope I'm not intruding, but I wanted to find a place to relax, without going back to the hotel. I walked up and down the length of your town. It's like something out of Bonanza."
His brows furrowed, thinking how right he'd been about this man. But before he made any snap judgements, he needed to know more about him. Sylar was unusual, that he'd seen. "What?" Doc asked.
Sylar chuckled. "Nothing. How did the service go?"
"As well as such a thing can go. You know, Sylar, I'll just lay things out for you." He removed his jacket, tossing it over the back of a chair. He decided he may as well get to the point. "We need a sheriff. Lorne Dagget was a good man, but he wasn't a good sheriff. I've seen the way you handle Rafe. I think you could handle just about anybody who crossed paths with you."
Sylar turned his head, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. What did Doc know? "I'm not sure how long I'll be here. Would you want a man as sheriff, if he wasn't going to be around very long?"
"Sylar, you've been here long enough to know we have a problem. With you as sheriff, I have a feeling it would be Rafe who wouldn't be around very long. We can pay you $100 a month. Plus room and board. Your hotel bill would be paid for. If you should decide to stay, you can have Sheriff Dagget's old place. It'll need some fixing up, and we can get men to help with that. If you decide to stay, that is."
Sylar wanted to laugh at the salary. But compared to his time, his living expenses here weren't as high. And it wasn't like he needed the money. But did he want to be sheriff of an Old West town? He realized he had nothing else to do, and as long as he was stuck here, he could make the best of things. He'd have a job, a salary, and maybe some respect. Plus toying with Rafe was fun. When it stopped being fun, Sylar would kill him. "Alright, Doc. You've got yourself a sheriff."
Doc grabbed Sylar's hand and shook it. "That's great, Sylar! Thank you. I'll let Mayor Rogers know. Then we'll get you your badge. You don't have a gun, do you?"
Sylar held out his hands, raising his dark brows as he smiled. "I rarely have a use for one, Doc. Not since..."
"Right. Federal agent." Doc wasn't sure he believed Sylar had been an agent, but he would let that slide. It wasn't as if they were checking his credentials. What the town needed was someone who was unafraid and could handle trouble, no matter what form it took. "Ok, we'll get you a gun too. Come on, breakfast is waiting." He winked and grabbed his coat, putting it on.
Mrs Potts welcomed her customers, getting them coffee. She later returned with plates of eggs, bacon and fried potatoes. Sylar ate hungrily, again complimenting Mrs Potts on her excellent cooking. He then paid before Doc could even reach into his pocket, making the other man laugh. "Keep that up, Sylar, and you'll need the job."
They left the café and walked down the street, where Doc led Sylar to a simple wood building, large though, and fully stocked with goods. Sylar looked around while Doc called out, "Emily! Are you open for cash paying customers?"
A woman came out from the backroom, carrying several stacked boxes. "Jack, is that you? Just a moment. I'll be able to help you as soon as..." Unable to see over the top, she bumped into a counter, dropping the boxes and tripping right into Sylar, who caught her before she fell.
"Are you alright?" he asked, staring into a pair of beautiful blue eyes.
The startled woman looked up at her savior, blushed bright pink, and extricated herself from Sylar's arms. "Yes, I'm fine. Thank you," she replied, checking her hair and straightening her skirts. She quickly went over to the doctor. "Jack? Friend of yours?"
"Yes, Emily. This is Sylar Gray from New York City. Sylar, this is Emily Bowdry, the owner of the mercantile."
Sylar nodded to the pretty young woman. "Bowdry. Your father was the founder of this town?"
"Yes, he was, Mr Gray. He opened this store a few years before he died. It's mine now." She looked at the tall, dark-featured man with undisguised suspicion.
Doc noticed her eyeing Sylar. "Emily, Mr Gray is going to be the new town sheriff."
She looked at Sylar with surprise in her eyes. "Sheriff?" She turned back to Doc. "But didn't you say he's from New York City?"
"Emily, Mr Gray is someone who can take care of certain elements we'd like to see gone."
Emily knew whom Jack Wilson was talking about. "Rafe Matheson is bad news, Mr Gray. You know he just killed our sheriff, don't you?"
"Yes, Miss Bowdry, but Doc thinks I'd be good at the job. I'm willing to give it a chance while I'm here." He marveled at the simple, unadorned beauty before him, so unlike the women in his time.
Doc noticed the appreciative look Sylar was giving Emily, and didn't like it one bit. He went to stand by him, thus placing himself between Sylar and the woman he fancied. Turning to her, he said, "Mr Gray needs some new duds. Think you might have his size?"
As Emily looked him up and down, noting his height, she replied, " I may have a few things, and what I don't have, I can order. Come this way, Mr Gray." She led Sylar to a corner of the shop that had stacks of folded men's slacks and shirts. Doc followed closely, watching the pair. He had wanted to ask Emily to marry him, but there was always a reason to delay it. Now he wished he hadn't waited. Sylar was not only handsome. but intelligent and well-mannered too. On top of all that, he had a secret that Doc was determined to discover. Sylar Gray was not a normal man.
