A.N. Hooray for Chapter 7! It's shorter than usual. And yes, I am leaving you in suspense with the Outlook breakout for another chapter. ^^ Chapter VII features a different sort of jail break, and is much less light-hearted than Chapter VI. I really hope that you enjoy it and that it came out well. Please tell me your opinion in a review when you're done reading. Thanks so much to everyone who has reviewed so far!! Love you all!

Disclaimer: I don't own Heroes or anything else. This chapter gets another Lewis Carroll quote. Again, I don't know which of his works it's from, and I apologize. A section of this chapter was directly inspired by this quote. It'll be pretty obvious when you get to it. On with the story!

Chapter 7: Jail Break, part II

"He was part of my dream, of course - but then I was part of his dream too."

Petrelli Mansion

The ringing phone woke Angela. Disoriented, she stared at the absence of the color red. Just seconds ago her vision had been flooded with it, and now it was nowhere to be found. As absent as a clear interpretation of that dream.

Ring!

It reminded her of riding the bus downtown when she was twelve with little Alice in tow. Between their stop and their father's office (their final destination) was a huge rally. Men and women -mostly young students- with signs: RATHER DEAD THAN RED! and the less catchy MAKE OUR TOWN COMMIE-FREE!

No one in the town where the Shaws lived was ever proved to be a Communist, though the rallies continued. The Red Scare had been wasted on those passionate citizens.

Ring!

Was her fear wasted on this dream?

Ring!

No. It was as ominous as those night-time visions of New York in flames, only far more personal.

Ring!

Angela shakily answered the phone, still in a cold sweat. "Hello?"

"I don't want Claire hanging around Nathan so much anymore," was the reply. Only Noah would call so late, and only if he had been thinking about something for a while.

"Why not?" Angela asked. Now that Noah had gotten his opening statement out, he was more attentive and noticed that her voice was off.

"You had a dream." Not a question.

Angela swallowed and breathed deeply before speaking. "Yes."

"What happened?"

"It was unclear," Angela said. "The worse things are, the less likely that the dreams will be easy to interpret."

"Was it Nathan?" Noah asked more urgently.

"Not directly, if at all. It might be connected to him, but I can't come to any conclusions," said Angela. She almost couldn't get her next words out. It could not happen; even she did not deserve to lose them both. "I saw Peter drowning in blood. My son-"

She broke off. She could not remember the last time she cried, and she barely restrained the tears now. Noah seemed to sense this and gave her a moment of silence before saying he would call again in the morning. Angela thanked him and hung up the phone. He really was the best friend she had. Maybe the only real one.

Angela wiped her nearly-leaking eyes and turned to look at the clock. Eleven fifty-three. Seven minutes to midnight, and little hope of any more sleep for the night. She was about to reach for her book when the phone rang again. Was Noah's issue so pressing that it couldn't wait a few hours?

"Hello?" she said again, frustration showing in her voice only slightly.

"Hey, Mom. It's me."

Angela fought tears for the second time as she heard the grim voice of her younger son. She had to act normal. She had to act like nothing was going to happen. "Peter, why are you calling so late? Shouldn't you be at work?"

"The next shift got in ten minutes early," Peter said. He sounded understandably tired, but there was something else there too. "I need to ask you something."

"Can it wait until morning?" If she couldn't talk to Noah, she certainly couldn't talk to Peter.

"No, Mom, I have to- Did you know about my ability? That I have the same as Dad's, just... unevolved?"

"Yes, I-"

"Why didn't you tell me?!" She had not anticipated anger, only confusion. Before Angela could get a word in edgewise, Peter continued. "All this time- I've had it, and you- you knew? And you didn't tell me what I could do?"

"Peter-"

He interrupted her again, but had stopped yelling. "You said that there were things you could have told me when I was growing up, when I was confused. You said you were going to stop hiding things. You - you and Noah said you were going to change! What can I trust you with, Mom?"

To do what is necessary for the greater good was her brain's programmed answer. Nothing was what she felt like saying. Angela said, "I thought it would be better for you to figure it out on your own. Your father said that his journey in developing his ability made him stronger, and I thought that you would appreciate that."

"You thought I wouldn't figure it out. You don't trust me with- after Kirby Plaza, you don't trust me with my own power! You don't think I can handle it!"

"Don't be ridiculous, Peter. I'm your mother. I only want the best for you, and you have so much potential," countered Angela, trying to get the conversation back under her control.

"Except that I can barely get out of my own way, right? I heard what you said to Charles, Mom," Peter said. Bitterness rang in every syllable. What was going on here? She remembered that conversation well, but how could Peter have heard it?

"How did you hear that?" Angela asked.

"A dream. I think Charles sent it to me somehow, after he died. He talked to me," Peter explained.

"He was a very powerful telepath," Angela thought aloud. "But that's impossible, and he hadn't had his powers in so long..."

"Charles lost his powers?"

"Back in 1971. We never found out how. Almost everything was gone, except that he could still communicate through dreams. That's why we recruited Maury Parkman six years later when the Company started," Angela said. "Peter, about your powers, I never meant to-"

"Right. Of course you didn't. I'll talk to you later," Peter said. He hung up. Since when did Peter hang up on her?

Angela lay back on the pillows with his sarcasm ringing in her ears. She could imagine her son- her only real son- being attacked and drowned in the blood of the monster's victims, not powerful enough to stop it.

Odessa, Texas

Sylar sat on his cot- which was really a metal table meant for medical experiments- and let the seconds tick by. This was the longest period of time he had ever been imprisoned. There had been no slip ups and no jail breaks. Of the nine weeks he had been imprisoned, he had been counting the seconds for the last one and a half.

They were messing with his head somehow. He had the vague idea that Angela and Noah were responsible, and there was something about Matt Parkman... but it was too blurry to be sure. His ideas had rarely been blurry or vague before.

He dreamed every night, but could never remember what the dreams were. Maybe they were memories, maybe he was talking to somebody. Whenever he woke up, Sylar felt like part of him had floated away during the night. He was the only prisoner who never lost track of the time (and therefore slept at regular intervals) in the always-lit basement of Primatech Paper Company. In fact, he was the only prisoner at all.

This in itself was very strange. Only a little less so than the day he received his first visitor.

He greeted her with, "Aren't you dead?"

Elle Bishop walked up to the glass just like she used to walk back when it made sense for her to be walking. "Maybe," she said, with the same flirtatious air she used to use when it made sense for her to be talking.

"Why are you here?" Sylar said with boredom close to apathy, but was desperate for her to stay. He could bear being alone, but almost three months without a glimpse of another person was a bit too much even for him. He needed something besides cold walls and silent corridors.

She pointed to the little plastic food tray that came out near the glass. It had been empty for Sylar's entire imprisonment. Now it contained a syringe. He walked over and picked it up, noticing the sinister nature of the needle. He looked back up at Elle. "What is this, lethal injection?"

"No, just a sedative," she replied.

"Why should I believe you? I killed you," he said. He examined the syringe again. "This could be a very realistic hallucination."

Elle sighed and rolled her eyes. "You're so paranoid," she said. "This is going to help you, stupid."

"Why would you want to help me?" Sylar asked. "I-"

"Yeah, you killed me. I got that," Elle replied. "I think that makes us about even, don't you? I saved your life, lied to you, and helped turn you into a monster even though I knew what would happen. I killed Gabriel Gray. You killed me. Everything else we forgave each other for, remember?"

"Yes, and I even forgave you for that. Bennet's another story, but I forgave you," Sylar argued.

"You're not the one who can forgive me. Gabriel is, and he's gone forever. It's too bad, because I think I was in love with him," Elle said, then added hurriedly, "Of course, I think I was in love with you too. When I was alive. Why did you kill me, anyway?"

This was becoming a very confusing conversation. "I needed to reinvent myself. At Kirby Plaza, I was on top of the world. I thought I needed to be alone to get there again."

"You thought?"

"Now I'm not so sure," Sylar admitted. "Look where I am now. Obviously, it didn't work out. How about you? Why did you lie to me about my parents?"

"I didn't want to lose you." Elle knelt down so that their faces were level. "Let me give you some advice. Take the injection."

"Why?"

There was a pause in which Sylar got the feeling that Elle was holding something back. That was nothing new; it was practically the story of their relationship. All lies and passion and murder... it sounded like the description of a soap opera. How could two people who knew each other for such a short time change each other so much?

Elle placed her palm against the glass, and said, "If you want to live, you need to wake up."

It seemed that that was the least cryptic she was going to get. Slowly, he lifted his hand so it was only separated from hers by the inches of glass. She smiled and let a few blue sparks loose from her fingertips, then stood and turned away. Her footsteps echoed through the ghostly halls of Level 5.

Sylar sighed. He examined the syringe and needle once more, then plunged it into his forearm. Within seconds, everything went black.

He was looking in the mirror through the eyes of a stranger. No, not a stranger. Nathan Petrelli. What was going on here?

Nathan was straightening his red tie. It took expensive, and he looked- not so immaculate as usual, though pretty good for a dead man. Those dark circles under his eyes were hard to ignore, and his skin was so pale that one might ask if the senator was feeling well. At closer inspection, Sylar could see that Nathan's eyes were bloodshot, and his fingers were a bit twitchy as they adjusted the collar of his suit jacket a fraction of an inch. He had obviously not been sleeping.

Then it clicked. Noah and Angela- and yes, it had to be Matt Parkman. That pathetic man had used his telepathy to turn Sylar's own plan against him. He was Nathan Petrelli, and it was becoming increasingly clear that Sylar could not stop being Nathan Petrelli. Even now, it was a struggle not to just assimilate, to let himself slip back under. It was difficult, but not impossible.

With every fiber of his being, Sylar fought to take control of what was rightfully his. Nathan sensed that something was not right, and stood paralyzed for almost two minutes as he felt the monster inside him wrestle for dominance. At last Sylar gained some ground and managed to growl at the impostor, "Let. Me. Out."

Nathan backed away from the mirror. His own mouth had temporarily betrayed him, but he seized it back. "No. You're dead."

"If I'm really dead, then how are you talking to me?" Sylar pointed out.

"You're not real." There was real fear in the politician's voice, no more of his stupid, characteristic bravado.

Sylar laughed. His smirk looked strange on Nathan's face, but it wouldn't be Nathan's face for long. "You're the one who's not real. I killed you. Your mother set you up as a shield to keep me from slaughtering the president and all of those so-called heroes."

"You're wrong." Oh, so the terror was temporary. There was bravery behind the picture-perfect smile and the carefully crafted reputation.

Nathan had more to say. "I don't know what you did, but you won't take me over. I won't let you hurt anyone else, you psychopath."

"You idiot! You're dead!" Sylar shouted. He felt ready to snap. He would not be taken over by this shell. He would not be betrayed by his own mind! "I'm the one who belongs here!"

"I am Nathan Petrelli, and I'm ordering you to get out of my mind," said Nathan. He had gathered all his strength so that his voice was only mildly shaking.

Sylar was furious. He was ordering him? That was too much. "LET ME OUT!" Sylar screamed at his false reflection. "Let me out and maybe I'll spare one of your fingers to send to Angela before I rip her to pieces!"

Nathan turned and ran. He didn't bother to cancel any appointments or call in sick, he just sprinted up the stairway to the roof and took off. He didn't bother to concentrate on how far he flew after the sonic boom. Eventually the rushing wind cleared Nathan's mind and he hovered just below a large white cloud, breathing hard. A few deep breaths and he felt more calm.

As if he could escape.

A.N. There it is. Please express your compliments, criticism, or suggestions in a review! Jail Break, part III (the last of the trilogy) should be up soon, since it's already half-written. Now click the big green button. :)