Before we start a short message to „Guest" who recently reviewed „Solve the Case": I didn´t know how fast you read so I put my answer here if you don´t mind. First, thanks for your kind words. Second, maybe you could send me a PM? Because your offer sounds like something we could talk about.

Okay and that´s it. No more delay. Here we go. Story …


Wake-up Call

It was cold. And dark. From somewhere he could feel light approaching him. And sounds. He couldn´t quiet place them though. It could have been voices but he wasn´t sure. He wasn´t sure about anything anymore. Not even about himself. Was he floating? He couldn´t feel his body. He wasn´t even sure if he had one. His mind desperately tried to find a hold on something, something familiar, something that made sense. But there was nothing. Only this infinite darkness and this unpleasant coldness he seemed to drift through.

Where was he? How did he got here? And what was that force that seemed to pull on him, dragging him even closer into this cold. Couldn´t he just stay here, where it was dark but also warm? He didn´t like this cold. It was bad, he knew that even though he didn´t understand it. If he´d known how, he´d tried to struggle. But he didn´t know how. He was totally powerless.

His mind passed through something like a curtain and then all the sudden, the darkness was replaced by bright lights that hurt his eyes and pierced into his brain. His heart started to beat (again?) and his lungs picket up their former function. He gasped and it hurt as if he hadn´t used his lungs in years. His eyes shot open and he immediately closed them again with a cry of pain, believing that he´d just blinded himself. But then the pain left him again and he sank back and allowed his organism to calm down.

He was still freezing. Now more than ever. But there was something on his chest, a light pressure as if something was lying there. He opened his eyes and saw two small hands on his chest. Those hands belonged to a young girl, he found. She was maybe eleven or twelve. Her hair was long and as dark as her eyes. On her forehead there were some electrodes, hooked to thin wires that went to a machine on a cart next to her. When she looked at him, he could see the fear she must feel. Not of him though. But afraid she was. And a moment later he knew why. A man in a uniform took her by the shoulder and dragged her backwards and away from him. The girl followed him without any struggle but there was a crying desperation in her eyes.

He looked around and spotted more men like this one. They were surrounding him and they all regarded him with paranoid eyes. And weren´t they right with that? He had no idea who they were but he didn´t really care. He would not lie around here and play dead. His hand found a grip on something that felt like a bar, somewhere under the stretcher he was lying on. Without waiting for them to figure out if he would really do it or not, he ripped the thing off and jumped up to his feet. The sound of a salve of bullets, shot into the ceiling, made him halt though. In the corner of his eye he saw the soldier holding the little girl in front of him like a hostage. All the others were aiming their guns at him, ready to shoot.

„Be reasonable, doctor." a male voice said behind him. „You don´t want to die again, do you?"

Mohinder turned around and faced a man with tanned skin and white hair. He´d never seen him before but something told him that he knew him very well. What had he just said?

„Die?" he repeated the word in disbelieve.

The man before him nodded. „You were dead for at least twenty hours." he revealed.

Mohinder grabbed his own chest but could only attest that he was breathing. Dead? He?

„How?" he asked.

„A simple car accident." was the brief answer. „Funny, isn´t it? After all these other things you survived."

Now finally Mohinder remembered. The ambush. They´d fought and tried to run. And then … dear god, that accident had actually killed him? It seemed so.

„Who are you?" he wanted to know.

„My name is Commander David Harris. My friends call me Hawk."

„Where´s … my colleague?" Mohinder demanded to know, keeping himself from revealing the name just in time.

„You mean Sylar?" Harris only chuckled over his try to hide Sylar´s identity. „He´s here." he told him. „Downstairs. Just like some others."

„Others?"

„Specials. Like you. But the reason why you are not in a cell like them is simple. We want you to do something else for us."

Mohinder understood at once. „I´m not helping you with anything." he stated matter of factly.

„Don´t decide too quickly, doctor." Harris replied and waved for the man that held the girl. He came a little closer, still holding her secure as if he was afraid she could try to attack him.

„This is Sofia." Harris introduced. „She can´t talk but she has a really extraordinary gift. She brought you back from the dead, doctor. Would be a shame if something would happen to her right after she saved your life, now would it?"

Mohinder searched the gaze of the girl and she looked right back at him, shaking her head as if to say `don´t listen to them´.

„What do you want from me?" he asked Harris.

„That sounds better." the other man replied. „We want your cooperation, of course. Your expertise. You are the most extraordinary exemplar we caught so far. You are a Special but you haven´t been one from your birth. You made yourself special. We want to know how."

„What I did back then was an accident and can´t be repeated." Mohinder told him.

„Well, you better find a way to repeat it. There are more lives at stake than just hers."

„I don´t think that you will kill the Specials you caught." Mohinder dared to fire back. „You need them for something. You wouldn´t have taken so much labour on yourself if you didn´t want this. You won´t kill them. Or her."

„Maybe not." Harris admitted. „But we can hurt her. Really bad. And if she is not important enough for you to comply … then maybe someone else is." He turned to one of his men. „Show it to him."

The addressed man went over to a computer screen and switched it on. A picture, shot by a surveillance camera appeared on that screen. It showed a place that looked like a living room but Mohinder had a feeling that this was not quiet what it was. Another girl was sitting on the couch, a little older than Sofia, maybe sixteen or seventeen years old. Her long brown hair was hanging in her face so he couldn´t see it right away. But then she brushed her hair aside and locked it behind her ear.

When Mohinder saw her face, something in his mind just snapped. Forgotten were the guns that were aiming at him and within only two seconds he was at his feet and at the man that stood closest to him. The guard was taken by surprise and went down, knocked out by the punch he received. But the others weren´t. Something nudged into Mohinder´s back and then the electrical charge forced him to his knees.

It felt like an eternity before the pain finally ceased. He leaned against the wall, panting in his anger but well aware of the fact that he had no chance to keep fighting. Harris came up to him.

„I see we understand each other." he commented.

Mohinder looked up at him and wished to have Sylar´s ability of telekinesis. Then he would have shown this man how much they understood each other.

„If you do anything to her …" he growled.

You can make sure we won´t, doctor." was the dry answer.

Mohinder stared at this man before him and didn´t say anything. He couldn´t say anything. All he could say would only cause more problems. They had him and they knew it. So eventually he lowered his gaze and nodded, gritting his teeth.

„Good decision." Harris praised. „We´ll show you your lab then."

One of the soldiers came up to him and dragged him to his feet. Mohinder threw a brief glance at Sofia and then at the screen again. When he faced Harris again, his gaze was stonecold.

„If I get a chance …" he said. „I´ll kill you."

Harris only chuckled. „Funny." he said. „Sylar said the same to me, barely thirty minutes ago. Must be my charm." Eventually his smirk vanished and he nodded at his man. „Bring him out." he ordered. „The good doctor has some work to do."

...

„Detective." chief Vick leaned on her fists. „How much proof do you have that it was Mr. Harris and his men who took Mr. Spencer?" she demanded to know.

Half an hour ago her detectives had stormed into her office and demanded a warrant for the former Roth mansion, claiming that the man that resided there now, had kidnapped their consultant.

Karen´s first reaction to the fact that Shawn was missing had been a genuine shock. When had this happened? Regarding the look on Mr. Guster´s face it couldn´t be too long ago that they´d discovered it themselves. She´d demanded answers, explanations, anything that could tell her how to react to this situation.

The fact that one of her inferiors had been kidnapped was serious enough. But that Harris, the administrator of the fortune of Frederic Roth (who was missing himself, by the way) should be responsible for his vanishing, was a little too heavy for her taste. If that was supposte to be true she needed a little more than the three people closest to the missing and her head detective who claimed to `just know that it was Harris´.

But obviously just knowing hadn´t provided him with a lot of hard evidence, because now that she´d asked for exactly that, Lassiter hesitated.

„We know that the kidnappers drove up into the hills with Roth." he told her.

„How do you know that?" Karen demanded more details. „I thought you didn´t find the kidnappers yet."

„We didn´t. We just …"

„Then how can you know what they did after they left the hospital, detective?"

Lassiter stared at her, his lips forming a silent O when he found that he couldn´t answer her question. Karen noticed some uncomfortable glances Juliet and Gus threw at him and in this moment, her head detective reminded her awfully of Shawn himself. She gave him a demanding look.

„Tell me." she demanded, not really expecting an answer anymore. It seemed obvious that Lassiter didn´t have one.

„Karen …" Henry spoke up and took a step forward obviously fed up with the way this talk went.

„Spencer saw it in a vision." Lassiter blurred out all the sudden and stopped the elder Spencer before he could even think of saying anything else.

Everybody stared at Lassiter thunderstruck. The detective´s gaze was serious as always.

„Before he vanished he told me that he saw the three culprits drive into the woods and meet with another van." he told chief Vick. „That Roth was handed over to these other people and, chief, I just know that it were Harris and his men. If you just allow us to investigate this further. Let us go up there again and light some fire under them, then we can …"

„Did Mr. Spencer identify any of these men in his … vision?" Karen talked over him.

Again Lassiter hesitated, clenching his jaw. „No." he said.

„Did he see a plate on the vehicles you can use?"

She could practically see the frustration eating its way through her head detective.

„No."

„Then what other evidence do you have that connects Harris with the kidnapping other that the culprits drove through the same woods where he has his mansion?" Vick demanded to know.

It hurt her that she had to say those words. It was about Shawn after all. But she was still the chief of police and she had to make sure her detectives didn´t forget that either.

„I just know it, chief." Lassiter answered her question, his tone almost pleading.

She kept his gaze for a moment, never giving way. „Well, I´m afraid that´s not enough for a warrant." she told him.

„Chief." Juliet spoke up but Karen raised her hand to stop her.

„I believe you … detective." she assured her. „I really do. I trust your instincts and if you say that there is something about Harris then I want you to find out what it is. But I can´t allow you to go up there and search the mansion. We have to respect the law. And Mr. Harris has the right of privacy just like everybody else."

„Karen, this man has my son." Henry barked.

„Then find something to prove that." she replied not the least impressed by his outburst. „Henry. I want Shawn back as much as you do. But you know the rules. We can´t just storm that house without any base to work on. That´s not how this goes."

„I´ll go up there anyway." the elder Spencer told her stubbornly. „I just bust his door open and demand my son back."

„And you think you will accomplish anything with that?" Karen asked, shaking her head over so much stubbornness. „Do you really think that this man is stupid enough to keep Shawn in his closet, just waiting for you to come up there and find him? A man like Harris is far too slick for that."

This argument at last seemed to have gotten through to Henry and Karen exhaled inwardly.

„If we really want to find Shawn and nail that son of a bitch, we need to be slicker than he is." she went on. „We must beat him at his own game. And we can´t do that by running into his strings."

Henry exhaled visibly to calm himself down. „And what would you have me do?" he wanted to know.

„What every good cop would do." was all she could tell him in this moment. „Find evidence. Find your son and make this guy get caught in his own strings. Catch him." she faced the rest of the group at this. „That is an order that goes to all of you." she said.

It was Lassiter who first found his composure again and straightened his back in determination.

„Yes, chief." he almost barked.

...

The guard held a card against a metallic plate next to the door and the familiar beeping sound came up. Joe Hawkins had heard it many many times, every time when they´d gotten him or his nephew out for one of their tests. The door went open and he could see the isolating material that separated the outside wall from the inside, in order to prevent a break. The rascal might be able to manipulate everything that beeped but only if he could reach it.

Joe stepped inside and the guard closed the door behind him. In the living room (what a joke) his young roommate just hurried away from the TV and sat down on the sofa. Joe frowned.

„What are you doin?" he demanded to know.

„Nothing." his nephew replied. „Just changing the channel."

„That´s what the remote is for."

This time he didn´t get a response and his guess was confirmed.

„I tol´ you not to mess with the TV." he barked down on the teen. „What am I s´poste to do with my ev´nings when you break the damn thing?"

„What do you care what I do?" the boy burst out as well. „I can repair it. Besides I don´t break it."

„And you won´t break either." Joe replied. „Give it up, Micah. Nuthin in this place is connected with anythin outside. They have a special generator out there, just for you. Because they know what you´re doing, Rebel."

„Don´t call me that." Micah shouted, jumping up from the sofa. „You never believed in that anyway."

„Why should I? It only got you in trouble. And it didn´t help us to get outahere either."

„Not yet." the boy replied.

„Stop it." Joe demanded, getting angrier every second. „They´re watching us. They hear what we say."

„So what?"

„You think they´ll just stand by and watch you run away? That is if you get ever past that door."

„I will get past that door." Micah promised grimly.

„And then?" Joe asked. „Huh? What then? They´ll only shoot you like a dog, Micah. Just like your daddy."

„My father died as a hero." Micah shouted. „And so did my Mom."

„Yeah." Joe snorted. „But the bottom line is they are dead. I prefer it to stay alive. So stop fooling around in here."

„What do you care if I get shot?" Micah asked. „Then you have one issue less you need to worry about."

Joe straightened his back and looked down on this stubborn kid before him. This kid of his brother that had thought he could save him even if he´d never asked to be saved. He was naiv, just like his old man. And this naivety had made him think he could reunite the family by coming to him. And what had it brought him? Nothing. It had only gotten him captured along with Joe when these men with the taser guns had showed up. And now, Micah? And now?

„Maybe, you´re right." Joe said at last, tired of this endless discussions that repeated itself over and over again. „Just go ahead. Let them shoot you." He leaned down to look his nephew in the eyes when he added. „And then ask your daddy if he´s proud of you."

Micah didn´t give a response but Joe could see the tears forming in his eyes. After a minute of staring, he just swirled around and marched into the other room, slamming the door behind him.

...

It was quiet just like it had been quiet these last few days. Sylar was still bound to his stretcher, still watched by the guards posted in his cell and outside of it. They didn´t even let him off that thing when he needed to pee. When they´d first tried it, he´d attacked them and they´d needed to taser him. Since then they only freed one hand so he could pee in a bottle. And even then they would never lower their guns watching every one of his movements. But that was okay because he was watching them right back.

Oh, yeah, they were right to be afraid of him. Just wait, he told himself over and over again. Someday you´ll drop your defence. Maybe you´ll be tired after a long day or just bored or you´ll be convinced that I am too weak to do anything to you. And then your eyes will drop and as soon as that happens I will be there, ready to rip the guns out of your hands and the hearts out of your chests. One day. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. But the day will come.

His stomach grumbled and the eyes of the guards looked over at him. Their faces remained like stone, just like always. Yeah, look, Sylar thought. Look as long as you still can. Soon enough he would close their eyes forever. Maybe not today but soon.

A sound from outside distracted him from his sweet thoughts of revenge. The door was opened and one of the guards talked to another one. He threw a glance at Sylar and then nodded at his colleague. Sylar tensed inwardly. What was that supposte to mean?

The guard came up to him, closely followed by the others, who grabbed their guns tighter again.

„You´re allowed to eat something." the man told him and reached for the bounds to open them. „Don´t try anything and this is going to be an easy thing." he demanded.

Sylar didn´t respond. He just watched the man losen his bounds. His face didn´t show any change in his mood but inside his heart was racing with anticipation. Now, he thought. As it seemed the day had come faster than expected. His eyes skimmed the other guards for a moment. It were three of them in this cell and at least three more outside. And he didn´t have his powers. The damn shunt in his head effectively kept them suppressed. But he could still get out of here if he only managed it to grab the guy before him. If he could use him as a shield he could make the others lower their guns and when he was ready, he could kill them one after the other.

He waited until his last bound was gone and he was free to do whatever was necessary. The moment the guard dropped his hands, Sylar hit out for him and rolled down from his stretcher. The man grunted when he was hit in the mouth but didn´t go down. Sylar tried to grab him but his head started to swirl. His legs felt wobbly, weakened by the days he´d spent lying on that damn stretcher and the lack of food he´d suffered.

The guard parried his attack easily and swirled him around. Sylar found himself on the ground, his heart racing and his blood rushing in his ears, his own panting so loud as if a steam engine was in his head. How? How could that happen? He was supposte to kill them. All of them. Instead he lay on the ground, defenceless and pathetic. Weak. He couldn´t be weak. He mustn´t. But he was. They´d counted on that. They´d done that to let him know it. God, he wanted to kill them so badly, wanted to make them pay.

The guards lifted him up and sat him back down on the stretcher, their guns pointing at him, leaving no doubt of the message. Try that again and it won´t be just a fist that hits you. Sylar scowled at them but didn´t do anything. He needed to stay alive if he wanted to kill them. He could hardly take revenge when he was dead. So he satisfied himself for the time being by imagining himself killing them. One day it would come true anyway. One day when he wouldn´t be so weak anymore. He would find a way. Somehow.

„Let him in." one of the guards said eventually, talking to someone outside the cell.

Sylar looked at the door and saw something he hadn´t expected. A skinny boy walked in. He couldn´t be older than seventeen or eighteen. He had long greasy hair that hung into his pale face and a gaze so shy he seemed totally lost standing between all the armed guards. But this impression might cheat.

Sylar watched this guy closely, how he carried that tray of food into his cell, trying to find something that would demask him as one of them. A trick to make him lower his guard. Send in a guy that seems harmless and the culprit will think he has an easy target before him. Maybe someone he can even trust. But Sylar would never trust any of them, no matter what tricks they would come up with and no matter how convincing they disguised their spies.

„Hi." the guy greeted uncertain. His voice was thin and almost broke when he spoke. „I´m Benny. You can call me the kitchen boy."

Sylar looked at this skinny thing before him and couldn´t quiet figure out what to think. The boy´s way of talking reminded him on another boy he´d known a few years ago. Only that this boy hadn´t been that thin. This guy Benny looked as if a small breeze could blow him away. His shoulders were hunched and Sylar believed that he only made it up to eighty pounds when he hung a brimstone around his neck.

„Why?" Sylar demanded to know.

Benny hesitated uncertain. „Because I am the kitchen boy." he said and laughed a goofy laugh.

„No." Sylar replied annoyed with this behavior. „Why do I get food all the sudden?"

The boy´s eyes wandered aside for a moment. „Be-cause you need to eat something?" he offered a possibility.

„They let me starve for three days." Sylar burst out as much as his condition allowed him such a reaction. „And now I´m getting fed? That´s torture to crush the spirit. I know the tactics. You can tell them it won´t work. I´ll still kill them. Tell that your commander."

The boy looked at him for a moment, the uncertainty still in his eyes. „O-kay." he mustered at last. „But … you can eat this anyway." he said gesturing for the food, he´d brought. „Okay?"

When Sylar didn´t answer, he just walked to the small table and put the tray down.

„I … didn´t know what you like." he said. „So I went for the standard this time. If you like something special next time, just give me a word."

Sylar stared at the boy with dark hateful eyes. „Wow." he made. „First starving and now special treatments."

„That´s not special treatment." the boy objected quietly. „I bring everyone what they like if I can."

Once again, the boy shifted uncomfortable under Sylar´s stare. He was a good actor, Sylar had to give him that.

„Who are you?" he demanded to know.

„I told you." Benny answered. „I´m …"

„No." Sylar interrupted him. „What´s your function in here? Everybody here has a function. Everybody carries a gun. You don´t."

„Yeah, that´s because I´m not a guard like these guys." Benny replied pointing at the armed men, who were watching them talk with stony faces. „I´m just kitchen staff." he said. „Assistent … I do everything. General servant. This is not a prison, you see. I … I know it´s not a hotel either." he hurried to add. „But … you know I see it that way … I´m responsible to keep you guys alive with food and all that stuff … no reason to live like a prisoner if you can help it a little."

Sylar didn´t give a response and Benny shifted from one foot to the other uncomfortably again.

„So …" he spoke up with this tiny voice of his. „If you like to have something a little more …" He hesitated and looked at the food on the table unsure. „Well." he shrugged. „A little more … more. Let me know. I see what I can do. It´s not much but I´ll do it. Promise."

Sylar still didn´t give a response. Benny lowered his gaze and then just turned around to leave.

„Oh." he cried and turned around one more time. „And … please don´t try to starve yourself to death." he begged. „Some people try that when they first come here. I´ve seen it and … it doesn´t work. They´ll make you eat if you don´t so … don´t do that to yourself. Or to me, ´cause I really do my best to cook something good for you guys." he chuckled but didn´t get a smile in response. „So … yeah." he said. „Don´t do that. Please."

Sylar frowned at the boy but still didn´t say anything. He was still trying to see through that charade. It wasn´t easy. But he was sure it was one. This couldn´t be real. It didn´t make any sense. But this boy really seemed very unsure of himself.

„Enjoy your meal." he said at last and then hurried out of the cell, fleeing Sylar´s intense stare.