Sylar - 2

As yet another hormone-infused, acne-ridden thing ran past and jolted his elbow, Sylar found himself once again debating how much unwanted attention a screaming, armless teenager would attract. He sighed.

Sadly, still not worth it.

He returned his attention to the parking lot across the street. Apparently, the original address he'd been given was incorrect; he knew he was in the right town based on information from a variety of sources, but apparently someone still thought they could get away with playing him falsely; something to be dealt with at a later time. Not a problem, though. If he waited long enough outside her school, he was sure he would spot her. All he needed to do after that would be to follow Claire home to Daddy and get his information. And then...

His mind drifted as it so often seemed to do recently. He knew better than to let his mind wander like this, he knew how dangerous it could be. Focus was key here; losing focus meant making mistakes. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes with Noah Bennet involved. He'd been in that situation too many times before, and he had no intention of screwing this up. Not that he was afraid of the man; he just knew better than to underestimate him.

That, and he just simply disliked mistakes.

Recently, though, he'd been having some very interesting, very distracting dreams, and if Mommy Dearest (the second one, not the first) was anything to go by, he probably should devote a little thought to them…just to be on the safe side, of course. Right now, though, he needed to remain as focused and inconspicuous as possible. Drawing attention wasn't his thing. As he had learned from past experience, anyone could be watching or listening, and it wouldn't do for someone to see or hear the wrong thing. A smirk briefly crossed is face at an old memory.

"That sound…in your heart. What is it?"

So he would wait here, thinking of the next steps in his plan and what he would do with the new information he was after, and thus ensure as few mistakes as possible. Later, though, on his own, he'd give himself some time to think on those dreams. Nothing wrong with a little indulgence, as long as it was done in moderation.

His smirk widening, Sylar continued to observe the parking lot of Costa Verde High School.

Every night I dream of you: without fail, there you are, all sweet and cute and however the hell else people describe you. The last couple of weeks, however, have been different. I don't want to confuse you, so let me explain. Since our last little get-together, my thoughts have strayed from my usual targets more and more. The first few weeks, there was the occasional stray dreamlet or a half-thought. Recently, I've experienced a full-force invasion of your presence in my mind: your voice, your smell, everything about you and that day.

Every. Single. Night.

Almost every night I get to relive our brain trust (pardon my pun; I couldn't resist) in perfect, unchanged detail. I briefly wondered whether I was feeling guilty, but I dismissed that outright; I'm still enjoying the memories too much. I thought over every possibility: Parkman's mind control, Angela's dreams (I was part of the family for a while, after all). I even briefly considered whether you were somehow behind this, trying to satisfy some juvenile sense of justice or retribution for what I did to you. I dismissed that one pretty quickly.

That would be just like you, though, Claire. You're such an idealist, just like your real Daddy. You want to think everyone gets what they deserve: the good people like you and your family get their rewards, and the bad guys like me get justice in the end. But…

You literally don't have it in you to do that to me, Claire.

But then the dreams changed. Instead of reliving that day in every delicious, exquisite detail, I've been having some…different experiences at night. You, of course, are the main feature, but the setting always changes. Sometimes I am watching you, but sometimes you and I are very…interactive.

I dream sometimes that you are waiting for me, watching for me from your bedroom window. I dream that, as terrified as you are, you know I'm coming and you cower as you wait. I dream sometimes that your terror has driven you to real independence from your scores of protectors, so much so that you want some sort of vigilante justice. You decide to stop playing my victim and end up hunting me down. You're so tough, so angry, so driven. Just between you and me, I have the most fun in those dreams.

Especially when I break you.

I dream sometimes that we were interrupted during our time together, and these are the most frustrating dreams. It feels as if months are passing as I try time and again to reach you after losing my opportunity. You may wonder what would have happened if I'd never had a chance to finish with you, Claire, but I know. Thinking of these dreams most often reminds me how I need to focus now to avoid similar frustration with my new goals. Even I can take a warning every now and then.

And then one more dream: it's night, and it's raining. You're walking along the beach. You walk down to the water's edge, and I watch the prints your feet leave in the wet, colorless sand. As you walk away, for some reason I am watching your footprints instead of you. I move closer and place my own prints next to yours; my tracks are so much larger and deeper than yours, darker in the moonless night. Where the light is coming from, I have no idea, as the clouds are covering any natural sources of light. Then I step back and look toward you, but you're too far down the darkened beach to see clearly through the rain anymore. I've let you go too far before I catch you. A warning or a message that I'm already too late to find you again?

I reach out with my power and begin drawing you back, focusing on your pale, indistinct figure in the distance. As I glance down at the waves lapping at my feet, I see that our prints have been washed away by the incoming tide. When I look up, you are closer, and I think at first it is my power alone that has drawn you back to me, but you aren't the same as the last time I saw you. The rain is dripping down your face, your hair is soaked and plastered to your body, as are your clothes. You have the same face, the same smile, the same…ponytail that I remember, but there is something new burning behind your eyes, something that replaces the fear that I once put there. I saw something like that in one other person's eyes once, the only time I've seen something like that directed at me. She is dead now, thanks to yours truly. But you can't die.

Fun, right?

I haven't decided if I like this look on you better than the fear. I'll think about that later when I have more time.

And I'll personally let you know.