I am so thrilled that you all enjoyed the last chapter! This one is kind of short, but I hope you will like this one equally. The song herein is titled "And So It Goes," by Billy Joel. Have a listen—it's on youtube, and it's lovely.
VVVVVVVVV
CHAPTER TEN
For just an instant, that bald man stared. And then, like a shaft from Zeus, blue, scorching lightning hammered into the ground right next to him. The explosion rocked the earth. The men screamed. They covered their heads, and leaped away from me. My head spun, but I tried to lift it. And when I did, I saw that the men were not running.
They were all suspended in mid-air, their limbs all ramrod straight, their eyes wide with terror.
Static crackled in the air. The ground rumbled. One set of footsteps sounded from behind me—calm, steady. I blinked several times, my shocked brain trying to process, hot tears still clouding my vision. I watched a set of feet pass me. I leaned back and gazed up at the dark figure they belonged to.
He held both hands out, palms up. And in his hands, two balls of lightning seethed, like toothy monsters waiting to be unleashed. They lit up his face in stark, sapphire light—his face, which bore an expression of such wounded fury, I hardly recognized him.
But I knew those limitless black eyes, and that delicate mouth, those strong features.
Sylar.
"Who…Who are you?" the bald man stammered, his whole body shaking. Sylar cocked his head, and narrowed his eyes at the man. He said nothing for a long while. Finally, his lips parted.
"Do you have any idea what I want to do to you right now?" His voice was low, and more deadly than I had ever heard. I shivered.
"This is none of your business, freak!" the black haired one shouted, his voice cracking. Sylar's head whipped around to face him. And suddenly, he drew himself up and flung out his hands.
Countless tentacles of lightning shot from his hands, lighting the night up like day, and shattering the air with a deafening roar. I covered my face with my hand, but couldn't help but look through my trembling fingers.
The lightning beams gathered together, then, and with a shriek like a breaking light bulb multiplied a million times, the single pillar of fire rocketed heavenward and dispersed. Thunder rolled through the darkness. And silence fell. Barely breathing, I tried to focus my eyes, expecting my attackers to be merely charred remains.
However, there they stood, the five of them, on solid ground, unharmed, their faces ash-white, edges of their clothing smoking. Sylar took two steps toward them. They cowered.
"I am Gabriel," he said. "And you are very lucky I met you when I did." He lowered his head. A spark shot from his thumb to his forefinger. "Now get out."
For a moment, they stood, as if they were about to faint or be sick. Then, they staggered backward, eyes like owls', and fled back into the shadows, yelling for the manager of the bar, and the police.
Sylar let out a long breath. I squeezed my eyes shut as the tears flowed down my face, unstoppable. My hand groped out in the darkness for something—perhaps my jacket. My bare elbows scraped the pavement as I searched. Instead, I caught hold of a man's shirt sleeve.
"Claire—"
I released a strangled sob, breaking out in spasms of shaking.
"They were going to…They…" I choked, my hands flailing as my sight blurred over. My hands caught fistfuls of shirt, and then warm arms slid around me and pulled me in, wrapping me up like a shield. I buried my face in his chest. I heard the thunder of his heartbeat. His hand pressed against the back of my head, and his face leaned down against my hair. I gasped, moaned and shook spasmodically, my eyes squeezed shut.
Yes, I knew I was weeping in Sylar's arms. And later, I would remember all of the reasons that I hated and despised him.
But right now, all my paralyzed brain could calculate was that he had saved me.
VVVVVVVVVV
I couldn't walk—my mind was numb. But that was all right. Because Sylar carried me. And the way back to the bed and breakfast was not long. Because we flew.
He held me tight to him, cradling me, and we soared silently over treetops and houses. The bridge of my nose pressed against his neck, my arms encircled his shoulders. I closed my eyes, knowing I would swoon if I looked down. But I knew he would not drop me.
He didn't speak the entire trip. Over the sound of cool, rushing wind, I felt the beat of his pulse against my nose. My tears got his collar wet. He didn't complain.
At last, we touched down in the back yard of the bed and breakfast. I sucked in a breath when his feet hit the path, and lifted my head. He strode forward. The door opened without a touch from him, and once we were inside, it shut of its own accord as well.
He brought me in to the sitting room, and the warmth of it enveloped me. Several kerosene lamps still burned, and three candles. I smelled the oil.
Sylar bore me to the couch, bent, and set me down there, then moved to withdraw. I sat up straight, my hands reflexively clenching around his shirtsleeves.
"I'll be right back," he said. My jaw was so tight I could not speak. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear my vision. When I succeeded, his face was mere inches from mine, his brilliant, dark eyes watching me. Then his brow twisted, as his gaze flitted over all my features. His fingers gently eased my grip off of his shirt, and he reached up with his right hand and barely touched my lips with his thumb. He then rested his forefinger under my chin and shook his head.
"I could kill them," he whispered. I looked down. He rose and headed off to the kitchen. I sucked in a ragged breath, lifted my hand and felt the place on my head where they had ripped out my hair. My scalp had healed, but the patch of hair was still missing. I then ran my fingertips over my face, and realized that more than half of it was covered in caked blood.
I tried to keep myself from sobbing out loud. I bit it back, swallowed it, and only a groan and a gasp escaped. I clamped my shaking hands together in my lap and lowered my head.
Sylar strode back in, carrying a bowl of water and a rag.
"We don't have a first aid kit here," he said. "But we don't really need to sterilize anything, since you're so incredible." He gave a crooked smile as he pulled the coffee table over with his telekinesis and setting the bowl down. He held the rag out to me. "Do you want to…?"
"What?" I asked numbly, frowning.
"Okay," he sighed, and knelt down in front of me. He dipped the rag in the water, wrung it out, and then brought it up to my face.
I flinched away.
"It isn't hot," he assured me quietly. "Just warm."
Shaking all over, I made myself stay still. Hesitating a moment, he then began wiping my face with the rag. I closed my eyes as the warmth sent chills down my back. He brought his other hand up to my neck to steady my head, and kept wiping, evenly and gently.
Tears kept sliding from my eyes and onto my cheeks. I couldn't help them. But he just swiped them away along with the blood. Once or twice, he rinsed the rag out, wrung it again, and started over. I felt drops of water land on my hands.
Finally, my whole face was wet, but I could feel that the blood was gone.
"I'll get you a towel," he said, rising and taking the bowl and rag back to the kitchen. I let out a long sigh, my eyes drifting closed.
Fingers touched mine, and then a soft towel pressed into my hands. I straightened, took the towel and dried my face and neck.
"Where's Peter and Emma?" I mumbled.
"They went looking for you, too," he answered. "We agreed to meet back here at three this morning if we hadn't found you yet. They'll be here in about half an hour."
"Okay," I breathed. Then I swayed sideways.
"Hey, lie down," Sylar suggested. "Here, here's a pillow." He propped up one of the couch pillows against the armrest. Stiffly, I leaned over, and, curled up tight, I rested my head on the pillow.
Sylar snatched the quilt off the back of the couch, unfolded it, and draped it over me. He tucked it up around my shoulders, then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. Then he backed up, looked at me for a moment, then took the towel back to the kitchen.
I lay there, my mind blank, as the warmth of the blanket slowly seeped into my muscles.
He returned, his footsteps quiet.
"Do you need anything?" he asked. I didn't answer. So he sat on the piano bench, facing me For several minutes, silence reigned, and I tried to quell my quivering. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him turn around, and set one hand on the keyboard.
"Do you mind if I play?" he wondered. "Just to…you know. It's quiet in here, and if you..."
I stared blankly at the mantelpiece. He didn't finish.
And then, piano music started, played by careful fingers. Deliberate chords, soft and melancholy. At first, I thought it was a hymn. The notes wandered through the living room, washing over me. And then, like the voice of a ghost, Sylar started to sing.
"In every heart there is a room
A sanctuary safe and strong
To heal the wounds from lovers past
Until a new one comes along."
His voice was different, this time. Deep. Sad. And so unveiled that it went straight into my heart. "I spoke to you in cautious tones And every time I've held a rose
You answered me with no pretense
And still I feel I said too much
My silence is my self defense.
It seems I only felt the thorns
And so it goes, and so it goes
And so will you soon, I suppose.
But if my silence made you leave
Then that would be my worst mistake
So I will share this room with you
And you can have this heart to break."
I knew Sylar was only playing for something to do, to fill the barren silence. I also knew he had not written the song. But it was as if he was sitting right in front of me, just talking. New, different tears started running down my cheeks. They were cold. I couldn't explain them, but I couldn't stop them. I turned my face into the pillow as he kept playing and singing.
"And this is why my eyes are closed
It's just as well for all I've seen
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows."
I wanted to cover my ears. But I also dreaded that empty silence—I would rather hear his voice than nothing at all.He softened the music, and as he did, the pressure built against my chest.
"So I would choose to be with you
That's if the choice were mine to make
But you can make decisions too
And you can have this heart to break.
And so it goes, and so it goes
And you're the only one who knows."
The notes faded into silence, and with it went my consciousness. I closed my eyes, let myself be overwhelmed, and sank into darkness.
Later—I am not sure when—I heard muffled voices all around me. I did not open my eyes, or make a sound. I couldn't. I felt like I was made of stone.
But then I felt someone sit on the couch next to me, and close his hand around mine. I knew his touch—it was Peter. I then felt his lips press a kiss to my temple. Then, he withdrew, but the warmth did not leave. And I felt myself healing as I listened to the tones of the three quiet voices fill the silence of the room.
TO BE CONTINUED