Tracking down Samuel was a bitch, but with the help of Claire's compass (that of which he sufficiently stole from her small apartment in Washington) he had to make the journey over a landscape he didn't recognize. Thinking to himself sardonically, maybe someone had an ability with a built-in GPS. Yes, he did have the ability to track down specials, but someone at the carnival was blocking any detection from humans and specials alike.
It was dark and he was soaring over hills, somewhere in God knows where. In the distance Sylar noticed red and yellow twinkling lights. "Got you fucker."
Landing behind a large tent, hopefully hidden by the darkness, Sylar took a moment to revise his game plan. He didn't want to harm any other specials; he had grown fond of many of them while he was here with the mindset of Nathan Petrelli. Ironically, that was when he felt most human: surrounded by "family" and children. He had told stories to the children, ranging from four years of age to seventeen. Even the teenagers still seemed to be interested in his stories. Funny, though, his stories weren't his but rather of "his" childhood with Peter—especially the story of when Peter thought he could fly and attempted jumping off the roof of a building in New York.
Now he wanted to destroy this family's father figure. Well, Sylar had done it before. He killed Nathan Petrelli. He also left his own pathetic father to die. But now with Noah dead, it felt to Sylar as if the sins of the father had to be redeemed. Sylar would end Samuel's life so that Noah's life of protecting Claire had not been spent in vain.
Now Sylar was casually walking around the tent, not caring who saw him or if Samuel had been alerted of his presence. Samuel wouldn't try anything with so many specials around—he needed them. And my, hadn't he collected quite a few in the last couple of years. Sylar remembered there being about 40 or 50 specials—now there was close to 200 people staring at him, watching his moves, plenty not knowing what sort of threat he posed.
Finding a small girl, probably about seven years old, he walked right up to her and bent to talk to her directly, "Hello little one," giving her a sugary smile, "Do you know where I can find Samuel?" She simply lifted a hand, pointing to a spot behind Sylar's back. Before standing, he turned, finding Samuel standing in the alley of tents, along with many others.
Samuel opened his arms wide, "Welcome back Sylar. Or is it Gabriel now?" He strode in smoothly to Sylar and hugged him warmly. Sylar didn't budge. Holding him affectionately by his shoulders, Samuel gave him a quick once-over, "You look hungry. Why don't you join me in my trailer—we can catch up." He was speaking loudly enough so his family could hear every word.
Sylar simply tilted his head and slowly gave him what seemed like a true smile, simply stating, "Sure."
Once Samuel escorted him through his trailer door, Sylar had the older man's throat clenched in his hand. The carnie struggled, staring straight into Sylar's soul attempting to speak his innocence and his goal of collecting specials, ahem, creating a family.
"I'm not going to listen to your words, you manipulative fuck. You control these innocent people with your filthy words, making them believe anything you want—much like Bennet's attack on them years ago—yeah, I know about that. Took you awhile to find him, didn't it?"
Samuel tried to speak hoarsely, but Sylar shook him to silence. "My apologies, but you don't get to speak."
Sylar studied him for a moment. His blood vessels were turning a harsh red, his eyes bloodshot, the skin of his hands clinging to Sylar's arm turning cold. Sylar only had to squeeze a little harder and the old man would be out.
"I know you know why I'm here. I'm not joining your sick fucking sideshow because you know I'm the strongest special of them all. I could make you move the tectonic plates if I stuck around long enough," Sylar tilted his head, eyes turning black, "No, I'm here for revenge. And what's so profound about it is that I'm not using a single power to take you down. Your family is going to find your limp body in a few minutes—what's too bad is that you never found a special with healing powers—those are pretty rare."
Sylar didn't know how much Samuel was hearing now because his eyes were twitching and his lungs were seizing. "You will never get the chance to hurt Claire again."
Tighter.
Tighter.
Stillness.
20 more seconds for good measure.
Stumbling out of the trailer, leaving Samuel for the dirt that he would return to and so lovingly controlled, Sylar soared up into the sky back towards Washington.
