Gabriel sent the door smashing inward with a casual wave of his hand. He walked in like he owned the place, which, given inheritance laws, he soon would. He smiled. Funny how that works. It had taken forever to find this place, even though he'd been to it before. He didn't want to fly in the daytime and finding it at night had been impossible. He was here now though and he was going to get what he'd come for.

A young black man hurried out of the hall with an angry and confused expression on his face. "Wh- what's going on here?"

Gabriel paused. Surely not. The records and his inquiries had said his father was still alive and living here, albeit in a terminal stage of cancer. "Who are you?" He started to raise his hand, but waited to see if he'd get an answer without control or threat.

"I'm Mr. Grey's hospice worker. Wh-"

"Oh!" Gabriel interrupted, smiling. "Great!" Now he snapped up his hand, twisting his fingers and jerking the young man into the room. "Now, just hold still there. I don't want any interference for what I need to do." A variety of cords flew out from behind appliances. He examined several and shook his head. Finally he had two long enough for his needs. The cords snaked around his captive's hands and ankles. Gabriel ignored the man's eyes, large as saucers. He melted the plastic and copper together with a prolonged sear of electricity. The man's pained screams were almost musical. Too bad he didn't like that kind of music. He dumped the man facedown on the couch and moved on.

He took a moment before heading back to his father's bedroom. A hospice worker - like Peter. Pity. Moreso that he wasn't sure how he felt about that. His father had been so disappointed that Peter had become a nurse. Time to go see the old coot and steal his power. Amazing how many times I have to kill my relatives before they stay dead.

He stopped at the door and sneered at the frail, dying man lying on the bed. The room stank of human misery and impending death. That amused him. How appropriate, what with all these dead animals decorating the walls, witnessing their killer's final death. He shook the man with telekinesis, not wanting to touch him. Samson Grey refused to wake for him. Disappointing. He considered trying to get the hospice worker to revive him, but he really didn't need the man awake. He'd just wanted to gloat a bit more before the end. Might as well get on with it.

XXX

A half hour later, he was screaming with frustration. A lifetime of powers, lost! There was nothing there in the idiot's skull, except the very power Gabriel already had! He had thought that by killing his father and taking the man's power that he would get every power Samson had - perhaps dozens of powers, new, exotic, unexpected. He would be fortified against his enemies and set to get vengeance. Instead, nothing! Nothing of use, anyway. None of Samson's captured powers could be transferred - only his innate, original ability. He lashed out at the room, at the corpse, and at the medical equipment. The old man might as well have died months ago. It would have saved him the disappointment at least.

My birthright. Useless! What a waste!

Still growling with frustrated ambition, he walked into the partially wrecked living room and saw the hospice worker was still bound on the couch. "Hm." Not a bad looking man. Someone he could take his frustrations out on. Young, like Peter had been when he was working hospice. He walked over next to him. He was hearing… something. Something like music. He heard the man's ragged breathing and the beat of his heart, thudding along too fast in his chest because he'd heard Gabriel's approach. Gabriel cocked his head and finally crouched down next to the man.

"You. You sound… wonderful," he told him.

"Wh- What?" the young man stammered.

"I can hear you. I hear," he ran his hand possessively over the man's body, "your blood coursing through your veins, your lungs working, your heart pumping, thumping… like a drum. I hear the cymbals of your nerves and the strings of your muscles. It's… so beautiful." He felt tears come to his eyes. "I want you."

"Oh my God, no. No, God, no! No, get away from me!" The man began to struggle in earnest, ripping his hands from his bonds in his terror. As his arms came free, Gabriel shrugged and cut his throat, standing and stepping away to avoid the spray of blood.

"I didn't say I wanted you alive," he sighed and settled to wait until the death throes were over.

XXX

Several hours later, he came to himself. He was covered in blood and pieces of flesh. In front of him was a frame, roughly man-shaped and covered with the hospice worker's skin. He had the sure knowledge that he could get better in time, until the preserved body would look as good as the other trophies on display in this house.

"Oh my God," he breathed, staggering away as he realized the extent of what he'd done. He looked at his hands and remembered so clearly the obsession and the horror he'd felt during and after the first time the Hunger had driven him to kill. "Oh my God - my father." He stumbled back to the ruined bedroom, looking between his father's body and his hands. Mouth slack, he returned to the living room, looking around with new eyes, seeing all the bodies - all the animals, frozen forever, owned, possessed, absorbed. "Oh my God!"

He sunk to the floor, staring at his blood-stained hands. He had the Hunger. Again. His father had had the Hunger. All of those animals… not a hobby at all, that bastard! He could have warned me! He yelled inarticulately at the ceiling, cursing his father and cursing himself. He'd come here for power unimaginable and he'd shackled himself instead. He couldn't talk to people, not if he was constantly driven to kill them and own their bodies and turn them inside out or whatever the hell he'd done to that poor young man. I skinned him. I made… a semblance of him. So I would have him forever. So his song would be mine, like a recording I can listen to over and over again. Oh my God, what have I become?

No wonder his father got rid of him when he was a boy. No wonder he lived out here, alone, in the middle of nowhere. He had to. He'd had to. Getting rid of Gabriel… wasn't because he was tired of him or didn't love him. It was because if he hadn't, the boy would have been one of these displays.

His head spun. He felt dizzy. His mind was full of what he perceived as sound and music. His face was horrified as he listened. It was so similar to time. Instead of ticking, there was the beating of his own heart. Instead of the movement of the gears, there was the gentle slide and pull of his muscles. Tears came to his eyes again, but for sadness, not joy. He could hear it… it was the song of life. Every living creature had its music. The stuffed animals that his father had left meant nothing to him, but the man… what was left of the man in the shed still had a song for him. He could hear it faintly even from here, on his knees in the living room. The song would be better if he'd been able to preserve him more accurately. He knew this, intuitively.

Numbly, he picked himself up and went to the bathroom. He cleaned himself and walked out to the porch. What the hell am I going to do now?