Heidi lived in a fog for the next several days, a dull ache alternating between tightening around her chest and throbbing in her skull. She wandered the house like a phantom, passing through rooms without pausing, looking out windows without seeing. She interacted with others only when necessary, always polite but detached and distant, forcing smiles that fell far short of her eyes.
The letter remained safely hidden away, out of sight, yet it was always with her.
You were happy with me, Heidi. I know it, and even though you're probably trying to deny it, my guess is that you know it too.
She sat at the kitchen table, staring into a mug of coffee that had long since chilled, and let the words run through her head for the hundredth time. She'd analyzed them endlessly, each time attempting to convince herself that they weren't true. But in the depths of her mind, she knew he was right.
She had moved on from denial, but acceptance still eluded her.
Her fingertip absently traced a pattern on the table's smooth surface as she let her mind drift back over the fragments of her marriage. The change in Nathan's behavior towards her (Sylar's behavior, she reminded herself implacably) had been gradual, not immediate. Yet even then, she'd felt the weight of her anxiety beginning to lighten. After months of stoic, tight-lipped detachment, her husband's interest in her had finally seemed rekindled. They had begun rebuilding their relationship quietly, the process slow and unhurried—undoubtedly a deliberate move on Sylar's part, she realized in hindsight. But even though their progress had seemed torturously slow at times, her sense of rejuvenation and relief had been immense.
Memories flashed through her head, one after another, like a highlight reel. Everyday conversations, kisses, phone calls. His eyes following her around the room as she dressed in the mornings, his hand smoothing her hair back from her face. It had all felt so normal.
And even on the occasions—at least, the ones she could remember—when things had seemed off…she hadn't let herself question it, hadn't wanted to do anything that might jeopardize her newfound hope.
A shadow fell across the table, and she tilted her head up, grateful for the distraction. Peter stood there, dressed all in black, as was his habit of late. His face was set in its usual grim expression, but his eyes warmed slightly and one corner of his mouth tilted up as she met his gaze.
"Hey," he said.
She couldn't help but return the expression, the first genuine smile she'd had in days. "Hello, Peter."
"I guess it would be kind of pointless to ask how you're doing, huh?" Peter said.
Heidi's smile turned wry, and she directed her gaze back to the coffee cup. "Do I look that bad?"
She heard a rustle of fabric and the scrape of chair legs against the floor as Peter sat across from her. He exhaled deeply. "You look...pretty frail."
"It's been a long couple of days, Peter," she said quietly.
"I know."
She gave a mirthless laugh. "For that matter, it's been a long couple ofmonths." She closed her eyes, pressing her fingertips against her eyelids until colored spots floated across her vision.
"I'm getting worried about you, Heidi," Peter said, and something in his voice made her open her eyes and look at him across the table. "You look like you're going to break down any second. You haven't been eating for the past few days, and I'm guessing you haven't slept much either." He paused, and his tone softened. "Look, I'm not going to ask you what was in that letter. I know it's none of my business. But maybe…if he sends you any more, maybe you shouldn't read them."
Heidi narrowed her eyes in confusion. "I thought you said his letters might contain clues for finding him, figuring out his next move."
Peter sat back in his chair. "Maybe. To be honest, I doubt he's going to give us anything—he's too smart to slip up like that. Besides, he's probably on the move, trying to stay one step ahead of us." His jaw was squared, his lips thinned in resignation, and suddenly he reminded Heidi so strongly of Nathan that the thick wall holding back her emotions threatened to collapse completely.
"But still," Peter was saying, "if he sends you any more, you can just give them to me, and I'll take care of them. There's no reason for you to have to get upset like this."
Heidi opened her mouth to speak, then thought better of it, not trusting her voice. She drew several shaky breaths and clenched both hands around the hapless coffee mug.
Just say yes, her brain urged her. You won't have to think about Sylar any more. You can begin to get on with your life.
The thought was barely completed before her mind supplied her with an image of the letter, the precise black handwriting swimming before her eyes. The words jumbled together, phrases clashing in her brain.Didn't you ever feel like you were second best in his eyes?... I just lay there next to you, watching you… you were happy with me, Heidi… I know all the little sounds you make when I touch you in just the right places…
"I can't," she heard herself say, and for a moment she was surprised by how firm her voice sounded.
Peter didn't blink. "Are you sure?"
She nodded once. "They're not for anyone else to read. Some of the things he…" Her throat closed, cutting off her voice, and she willed her muscles to relax. "I can't."
"Okay," Peter said. Reaching across the table, he pried her fingers off the coffee cup, squeezing them in his own. "We're going to find him, Heidi. You remember the tracking system I told you about? We're close to locating it, really close. And once we do, there won't be anywhere he can hide. We're going to find him, and he'll pay for everything he's done." His grip tightened like a vise as his eyes hardened. "Everything."
She squeezed his hand back, and for the first time in months, she allowed herself a fragile hope.
- - -
The third letter came less than two weeks after the second.
Heidi had been preparing herself daily for the possibility, unconsciously holding her breath every time she checked the mail. Yet her entire system still received an unpleasant jolt when her almost-trembling fingers sifted through the envelopes and revealed the familiar black print.
She hastened back inside the house, trying not to succumb to mingled anger and despair. When will this stop? Will he ever leave me alone?
This time she didn't hesitate to unseal the envelope, ripping it open with one quick motion. When the letter was in her hands she paused, collecting herself, then sat at the kitchen table and slowly unfolded the sheet of paper.
Hello, Heidi.
Yesterday I had a particularly interesting day.
The last time I collected a special ability was…I guess it's been several months, now. That was when I took the healing power that had eluded me for such an aggravatingly long time. The original carrier of that power was Claire Bennet—she would have been your stepdaughter, wouldn't she? Somebody was clever and sneaky enough to hide her from me all these years, not that it mattered in the end. I won eventually. I always do.
But I'm getting sidetracked. Before I killed Claire that day, I told her that I didn't need any more power, I just needed to eliminate anyone who might pose a threat to me. But that first part wasn't strictly set in stone. It's true that I've stopped collecting powers just for the sake of having them, but if I discover an ability that's particularly intriguing, I'm not so foolish as to turn it away. Waste not, want not, after all.
That's what happened yesterday. I came across a girl named Molly Walker, about fifteen years old. A very special girl. Pretty, too—big blue eyes that reminded me of yours, for no particular reason.
You should have seen the look in those eyes when she realized exactly who I was. We had a little bit of history, you see, some unfinished business that needed attention. I always hate to leave loose ends dangling.
I wiped some of the blood off her face, afterward. I've never done that before. But somehow it seemed like a shame to leave her looking so…imperfect.
Anyway, I have her power now, and it's an especially useful one—the ability to instantly know the location of any person in the world, just by thinking about him or her. It's a pretty addicting sensation—it makes you feel omnipresent, almost omniscient. Kind of like God. Or maybe Santa Claus.
And of all the people on this planet, Heidi, you're the one I think about the most. Now I always know where you are, all the time, no matter where you go. Gaining little Molly's power, however, has made me realize just how long it's been since I've seen you. Too long, Heidi. Far too long.
I've always been capable of living and working on my own. I've never been dependent on another person, and I don't plan to start now. But when I was president, I became accustomed to seeing your face, hearing your voice. And I won't lie; your presence helped me get through some long and frustrating times.
I think I'll come and visit you soon, Heidi. My illusion-casting power allows me to make things disappear, even myself. I can slip into your room and watch you without any trouble. You won't even know I'm there, unless I want you to. Who knows, I might be standing beside you right now, as you're reading this letter.
I miss you, Heidi. I'll see you before long.
Sylar
The ability to breathe seemed to evade her for several prolonged moments, until her vision blurred and her brain emphatically reminded her of its need for oxygen. She wanted to let go of the letter but found that her fingers, clumsy blocks of ice, wouldn't obey her commands. Fragmented thoughts raced through her mind, frantic and chaotic, shoving against each other like a panicked crowd trying to flee a burning building.
He's insane—he's coming here—watching me—killer—murderer—oh, God, what do I do
Instinctively, she remained still, frozen in place like a deer sensing the eyes of a predator. In one of the far corners of her mind, she felt like she was a defenseless child again, huddled under the covers and whimpering in fear of the scary monsters that lurked in the shadowy corners of her bedroom.
Only now, the monster was real, and he didn't need the cover of shadows or darkness.
Suddenly, she felt a feather-light touch on her hair.
Her heart crashed against her ribcage, its rhythm irregular and dangerously fast. It's just your imagination, she tried to convince herself. Sheer paranoia wreaking its havoc, nothing more.
But then it came again—the barely noticeable pressure of invisible fingers gliding on her back.
She twisted in her chair so quickly she thought her spinal column would snap (again). Her eyes scanned the room wildly, darting to all the nooks and corners. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. She held her breath.
"Are you there?" she asked the empty room, her tone hushed, her voice free of tremors only through sheer force of willpower.
There was no response.
She gripped the sides of the chair as she continued to glance around the room, watching, straining to see any signs of life. None came.
A treacherous voice inside her head whispered wordlessly that perhaps she should consider the possibility that she was losing her mind.
And she couldn't help but wonder if, just maybe, that was what he'd wanted all along.
