Chapter Six
"On the Run" (Part I)
After they had left Isaac's, Peter led Claire to an impressively run down motel, complete with semi-drunk residents lurching outside and roaches scurrying just out of sight. Although the odours of unwashed bodies and alcohol was faint, it was detectable enough to make Claire scrunch her nose in disgust.
Peter felt guilty exposing Claire to a place like this. But it was the only place he could think of that they could remain anonymous for the night. He had to wait for Claude to contact him the next day. His reticent mentor had deliberately not left any contact details and so Peter was forced to wait until their next scheduled meeting for help. He explained this to Claire in the cab.
"I'm going to meet the invisible man?" She had asked almost inaudibly, giving the cab driver a surreptitious look to see whether he had been eavesdropping. The delighted way she had said that brought a smile to his face. Even in their dire situation, she could still managed to be enthralled by something so mundane. Well, sort of mundane.
Peter had briefly contemplated turning to Nathan for help, but after what had happened to Heidi with Linderman six months ago, he knew that Nathan would think twice about endangering his family again, even if his brother were inclined to help. Peter didn't want to involve his brother if he could help it. It was his mess and he would clean it up himself.
Peter warily approached the man at the reception desk (he could only refer to that in the very loosest definition of the term). The man had clearly not bothered to shave nor shower for at least the past few days, the reek assailing Peter as soon as they came in closer proximity. Claire obviously felt the same way, scrunching her nose even tighter and sidling carefully off to one side.
"One room for tonight please." Peter said quietly, not liking the leer the man was giving Claire. Peter shifted subtly to block the man's view and cleared his throat meaningfully.
"Sure. Seventy bucks if you're paying in cash." After Peter quickly paid, the man handed him the room keys. "Enjoy your night." He surveyed Claire, sniggering suggestively. Peter frowned deeply, even more not liking what the man was obviously suggesting. Not bothering to thank him, he quickly led Claire up to their room.
The ominous sight of the dark hallway, with paint flaking off its walls and dirt and other brown stains clinging to the side obviously intimidated her. Instinctively, he took one of Claire's small hands in his own and led her quickly up the stairs.
After struggling with the slightly rusty lock, he was able to get the door to open. Once they were in the room, Peter found that he was able to relax again. They would hopefully have some respite from everything, for one night at least.
The tight squeeze he felt Claire giving him reminded Peter that she had not said a word since their brief conversation in the cab. He realised with a start that he was still holding her hand. Bringing their entwined hands up to eye level, he stood transfixed by the sight as his mind raced with new implications.
He couldn't even voice them, they were so absurd. And illegal. It was as if a book in his mind had been closed, and now it was open, the pages turning rapidly in quick succession bringing to mind new images, words, possibilities.
And that was the first of many times he would repeat the mantra, 'she's only a girl. A child. She's only 17.'
"Peter?" Her voice seemed fragile, tired, scared. She was gazing up at him with her wide, trusting eyes, unsure of what was making him stare so bug eyed at their hands.
He quickly let her hand go, clearing his throat loudly. "We should get some rest." In the awkward silence that followed, they found themselves eyeing the double bed in the centre of the room, Peter still preoccupied with erasing all forbidden thoughts from his mind.
He was going to suggest that Claire take the bed, but Claire, seeing the stained carpet, quickly intercepted that idea. "We'll share, you can't sleep on that. The rats will eat you alive."
"Are you sure?" He asked a little dubiously. It would be a huge thing to ask of her.
"I'm sure." She gave him that bright smile again, the one that lighted up her eyes. Peter found himself admiring anew the inner fire that had allowed her to deal with so much against the odds.
Peter's cell broke the silence, the caller id informing him that it was Nathan. He quickly stepped outside the room to answer it but before he could do so, Claire ran up and hastily stopped him. "Don't answer it."
"What, why not? It's Nathan. My brother." He amended.
Claire seemed not to hear him, staring intently at the cell in his hands. "It's your cell." Off his incomprehension, she expanded. "My dad can trace the call. That Haitian guy, I remember now, he told me that anyone could be traced with a single phone call if they knew the number. Your apartment … my dad knows where you live, who you are. You need to switch this thing off." She roughly snatched his cell from his hands and switched it off.
"Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Peter tried reigning his anger in, but he couldn't help it. The trauma of the night – the past few weeks in fact – had left him highly strung and his moods erratic. He had been having a hard time controlling them before Claire had appeared on his doorstep. But now the irrational anger, agitation and frustration of the last few weeks burst like a dam to the surface. "That's my brother, I need to let him know I'm okay." Peter exclaimed angrily.
It was odd that at this moment that Claire was the calm, rational one. "Here." She offered, Peter recognising the cell that Simone had given to the girl earlier that night. "Use this to call Nathan. My dad may not have had time to connect you two together."
"If what you say is true, I should use the pay phone outside." Peter said obstinately.
"Pay phones can be traced too." Claire explained patiently. How could a 17 year old cheerleader possibly know all this? "If Nathan's phone is being tapped – which it could be – it'll give away our position."
"Then why would I need to use this?" He gestured to Simone's phone.
"Because … even if Nathan's phone was being tapped, by the time you finish your conversation you can switch the phone off, they wouldn't be able to trace it." Peter felt an odd sense of satisfaction at seeing the rising irritation on Claire's face. "I don't know. I have no idea, it's just what the Haitian guy said. It just seems more … safer."
"Really? And how do you know all this?" He bit back a little harshly, instantly regretting it.
His tone obviously was the absolute last straw in a long litany of straws, because it seemed to break whatever dam she had erected to contain her emotions. Anger flooded freely onto her friendly features, that inner fire Peter had glimpsed earlier flaring to the surface and now unfortunately directed entirely at him. "Fine!" She half-shouted, half-gritted out. "What would I know, I'm just a stupid cheerleader right? Do whatever you want. I don't care." She furiously shoved Simone's cell into his hands, before stomping off and slamming the door loudly.
Peter stared at the now closed door, regretting his actions even more. She was only 17 years old, and she was caught up in something that neither of them had any control over. He was meant to be her protector – hero, he grimaced at the term – and here he was being juvenile while she was only trying to help them. He sighed. He would call Nathan and explain the situation, and then he would apologise to Claire.
His brother was predictably annoyed at being hung up on. "Did you just hang up on me?"
Peter closed his eyes in exhaustion. His entire body was burning with fatigue. He had trouble dealing with his older brother in the best of moods, but having to deal with him now was – and he couldn't emphasise this enough – excruciatingly painful. He almost preferred dealing with his old headaches rather than Nathan. "It was an accident." Switching the phone to his other ear, he went on. "Listen Nathan, I'm not going to be contactable in the next few days." Which maybe for the rest of his life, Peter added silently.
"And why the hell not?"
"Well … let's just say I'm mixed up in something right now. It's best for you if you don't get mixed up in it."
There was a long, pregnant pause. Try as he might to be a hard ass, Peter knew that deep down his older brother was still there beneath the grouchy exterior. That older brother he had grown up with – the older brother who had always in the end gone out of his way to protect his more idealistic, dreamy sibling from the dangers that the big bad world posed. Their relationship had been fractured by their father's death six months ago. Gone was the idol that Peter had worshipped, replaced by a facsimile of Nathan as their father had always wanted – ruthless, ambitious and hungry for success. "What the hell does that even mean?"
Peter sighed, pressing a tired hand to his temples. He really did not want to get into this at the moment. "It means, me and Claire, we're in trouble, the kind of trouble that you shouldn't be involved with. For Heidi and the boys' sakes. For your campaign." Peter added.
"The cheerleader?" And then Nathan surprised him. "You're my brother Peter. You're family too."
Peter was slightly embarrassed to find himself furiously blinking away tears. He had always been known as a sensitive dreamer, but that didn't mean he went around crying all the time. The pressure cooker that he had found himself in the last few days was definitely taking its toll. "I know. Look, I'm ... I've got a few other things I can try. But if they don't work –"
"Then you come to me, do you hear? That's what I do, I clean up your messes." Nathan's tone had gone back to being terse, annoyed. "Look, I'm going to be camped out at campaign headquarters until the election. You can find me there."
Of course. With all the confusion of Sylar, Claire's father and his impending explosion, Peter had completely forgotten that November 8 was also election day for Nathan. The symbolism of all these events converging on that single day was not lost on Peter.
His conversation with Nathan had taken a lot longer than expected. When he returned to their room, he found it silent, Claire lying motionless on one side of the bed. He gazed down at her reclining figure in the dim light, noting the blotchiness of her skin, an unmistakeable sign of crying. He felt ashamed at having been the cause of it, but seeing her lying there so serene and her breathing steady, he decided to let her sleep.
Besides, he needed the sleep too. Yawning silently so as not to wake her, he stretched out carefully on the other side of the bed. Staring unseeingly at the mouldy ceiling, he drifted off to sleep.
Author's Notes: Just a quick thank you to all those who have thoughtfully left your reviews and feedback about this story. It's really appreciated! ;-)
