- Chapter 11: In which the characters act as though they've never seen a horror flick

"Am I glad to see you," Emerson Cod declared grumpily when the Pie Maker walked through the door of his office, accompanied by Mohinder, Chuck, and Olive.

"You know, I was going to say the same thing," Ned replied, "Except phrased differently. Why do people say, 'Am I glad to see you,' like it's a question? It's as though they aren't sure if they are glad or not, so they're asking the other person, which is silly, because on the one hand, the other person might not know, and on the other hand, it makes the speaker sound uncertain when really they're trying to convey a very strong feeling, so really they're just contradicting themselves, in which case, why bother?"

The detective glared at him for a minute, and continued, "You know what, I ain't glad to see you anymore. Go 'way and I'll try my luck stickin' it out here with Blondie."

"Why does everyone say that like it's a bad thing?" Elle asked, while simultaneously, Chuck grinned and said, "Ah, come on Emerson, you know you missed us."

"You I didn't miss at all," Emerson glanced at Chuck first and then Olive. "You I missed even less."

"Ah, shucks Emerson, you know how to flatter a gal," Olive replied sarcastically, missing Peter. She was sure that he knew how to treat a lady properly.

"Yeah, well," Emerson sneered, his voice dripping with insincere cheer, "I do what I can." Reverting back to his usual tone, he demanded harshly, "Now, ya'll wanna tell me just how you let the creepy killa get away after all this time we spent lookin' for him?"

"We didn't exactly 'let' him get away," Ned replied. "In case you forgot, he is literally faster than a speeding bullet."

"Isn't that what Blondie's here for?" Emerson scowled at Elle. "What good are you if you ain't even around to fight this guy you supposed to fight? Oughta left you on the mother ship."

Elle put on her sweetest, most innocent face, the one she usually reserved for when she had just shocked someone without authorization. "It's not my fault. No one told me there was another special around. And anyway, you really only have yourself to blame. You're the one who said we should talk to the cops."

"Yeah, and a fat lot of good that did us," Emerson grumbled. "Ain't no more dead bodies, at least not that anyone's found yet."

"Which is a good thing," Chuck admonished the detective, "So don't say it like it isn't."

"Yeah, the bastard's enough of a problem without havin' anymore powers."

"That's not what I meant," the dead girl protested.

Emerson shrugged. "It's what I meant. From the sound of things, he almost got that one's power," he pointed at Olive, who put her hands on her hips and glared at him, "strange as it is to think o' her havin' any power worth takin'. How the hell did that happen?"

Mohinder blinked. "How did her having powers happen, or how did Sylar's almost gaining her abilities happen?"

"Second one."

"We were unaware of Miss Snook's status as a special until after you had left – we consulted the list a second time, hoping to anticipate Sylar's next move and not realizing the next target would be someone so close. He already made his move, but Olive held him off, and when we arrived he ran for it."

"Why would he do a thing like that?" Emerson frowned. "Don't make no sense."

He shrugged. "Strategic retreat? He wasn't expecting so many of us, not just yet, and he still doesn't know what Ned can do. For all he knew, he was about to get into a fight with someone who could kill him just by blinking, so he retreated to gather information or come up with a new plan so that he'll be better prepared for next time."

"You jokin' about the killin' someone by blinkin' thing, right?" Emerson asked.

"Not…really, no. Although, it wasn't blinking, it was crying."

"Killin' someone by cryin'? What the hell kinda girly power is that? I think you just makin' this up as you go along, Doc." Shaking his head, the detective remembered something, and indignantly he pointed at the Pie Maker. "Now, there's somethin' else that don't make sense. Who was that person that was with you all when you called? Said he dint want you to talk about him?"

"You realize how – strange – that question sounds, right?" Ned stalled. "You're asking us about someone while identifying him as the person we weren't supposed to tell you about."

"Bit of a philosophical problem there," Chuck agreed. "If we tell you about him, he in a sense ceases to exist."

"Ya'll don't stop chatterin' and start answerin' you gonna piss me off, in a sense, and I'm gonna have to smack you around, in a sense."

"At least you didn't have to listen to the Les Miserables discussion," Mohinder grinned in spite of himself.

"Oh, relax," Olive rolled her eyes. "It was just some guy with rotten luck. He was the last customer of the day, about to leave, and then bam! In comes that Freddy Krueger wannabe, smashing up the place and trying to kill us, and the poor guy was scared out of his mind – who wouldn't be? So when it was all over, he just wanted to have nothing to do with any of us anymore."

Emerson grunted. "Sloppy work, getting' someone else involved. Still, you got that much power and that little conscience, guess it don't really matter."

There were nods of agreement from the others, and Chuck frowned in concentration. "The question is, who gets involved next," she mused aloud.

"What?"

"Well, who is Sylar going to bring into this next? Who's his next victim? We need to find them, before we have another body and the trail runs cold."

"That's ain't gonna be a problem," Emerson shook his head. "My guess is, if the dude just attacked Olive, he's gonna stick around until he's got the two o' them."

"Oh, great," Olive shuddered deeply.

"In a way, it is," Mohinder commented. "That probably sounds strange, but it means that we know that he's still in the general area; it'll make it that much easier to find him."

Chuck gave at the waitress one of her warm, soothing smiles. "Dr. Suresh is right. And at least we know he's coming and we're ready to defend ourselves."

"Yeah, sure," Olive nodded, though their words troubled her more than they comforted her. Much more reassuring was the slight pressure she felt on her left shoulder, as though someone had squeezed it gently. She wanted to turn around to look behind her but knew she wouldn't see anything anyway.

"I fail to see why this is such a great thing," Ned sighed. "He's around here somewhere, but we don't know where he is, we don't have any leads, and he knows where to find us."

"I don't see the problem," Elle countered. "He'll come hunt you down, and when he does, we'll fry him."

Emerson stared at her in disgust. "That's sick." The expression on his face changed to something more pensive, and he continued, "But it is practical…"

"Emerson!" Ned exclaimed. "I am not going to sit around and wait for some psycho to come find me!"

"Then what?" the detective defended. "Go find the psycho?"

"Yes." Ned crossed his arms over his chest, psyching himself up for what he was about to say. "He's looking for us; I say, we go looking for him. That way, we get to surprise him and not the other way around."

"Sure, why didn't you say so," Elle chirped. "What's there for a murderer to do for fun on a Friday night around here?"

"No, he's got a point," Mohinder reasoned. "We don't have a specific destination in mind, true, but if Sylar is continuing the search for us he'll won't be too concerned with hiding himself. We can find him if search the city methodically." He paused before asking the detective, "Do you have road maps or something around here?"

Emerson grunted and, after digging in a filing cabinet for a minute, pulled out a street directory.

"Perfect," the geneticist remarked, flipping through the pages. "We are…here…" and he proceeded to study the surrounding streets.

Olive cleared her throat in the momentary silence. "Now, far be it for me to question the experts on this sort of thing," she started, "But how does one look for a serial killer, anyway? I mean, do we go around asking people if they've seen a creepy lookin' guy?"

"Bit generic of a description, don't you think?" Elle smirked. "We'd be chasing pickpockets and perverts all night."

"We could ask if anyone has seen someone who asked them if they'd seen us," Chuck offered.

Mohinder blinked. "That sounds…needlessly complicated."

Ned grinned at his girlfriend. "But sort of symmetric."

"A simply physical description will probably suffice," the scientist stated. "Now, we have another problem that needs sorting out, which is: we are not going to fit into one car. Do we divide up, and if so, how?"

This set off a rather longer debate than Mohinder had intended. While Elle and Emerson thought that splitting up would be the smartest thing to do – they could cover more area and would be less noticeable – Olive reminded them that there was safety in numbers, and Chuck and Ned agreed with her. Eventually, though, they were worn down by the simple fact that time was an important factor – no one wanted the threat of Sylar looming over them a moment longer – and that they would work faster in a few smaller groups.

Ned did, however, suggest that they keep in touch by cell phone throughout the search, and it was agreed on that they would call each other at the first hint of Sylar, or every fifteen minutes. If someone went unheard from, the others would go check up on them.

"And we oughta have one armed and/or dangerous person per group," Emerson stated. "That's me, the Doc, and Blondie over there."

The Pie Maker was slightly miffed. "I'm not considered 'dangerous?'"

"You not armed, unless you brought a rollin' pin with you," the detective reminded him. "In a pinch you could always take down someone else, bring 'em back, and hope that Sylar's the one that takes their place, but it ain't really reliable."

"Fine, I get it," Ned sighed. "Let's just get this over with."