All of your encouragement keeps me going—I hope you know that. This chapter is dedicated to Gamebird and Silverhelix. ;)
VVVVVVVV
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Peter knocked over an entire carton of milk when Hiro and Ando popped into being rightnext to him. Peter flew backward, straight into Gabriel's chest, nearly knocking him over, too.
"Woah—watch it!" Gabriel grabbed him and keeping them both from falling.
"Oh, no!" Emma cried, diving for the carton, but it was too late—it was already splattered over the floor.
"Oh, man—I'm sorry, Emma," Peter sighed, shaking out his left hand, which was now all wet.
"Don't do that!" Claire yelped, swiping up a towel and shoving it at him. "You'll get it all over everywhere else!"
Hiro let go of Ando's hand, and both of them backed up, eyes wide.
"So sorry!" Hiro said quickly. "We didn't mean to frighten you!"
"Nothing new," Peter muttered, taking up the towel and trying to calm his racing heartbeat. "Good to see you guys."
Hiro grinned at him.
"Good to see you, too."
"And glad that they haven't found you yet," Ando added darkly. Peter frowned, his hands going still.
"What do you mean?" Gabriel asked from Peter's shoulder. Claire straightened, her keen eyes on the newcomers. Emma knelt down on the floor and began mopping up the milk. Hiro's face grew grave.
"Aaron Flynt is coming."
Peter cocked his head.
"Aaron Flynt?"
"He is the FBI agent who is conducting the investigation," Ando said. "And even though there have been two earthquakes and controversial legislation going through congress, he has been persistent. Relentless."
"Of course," Hiro said. "It is a case of revenge."
"What?" Gabriel cut in, stepping forward. Hiro looked at him.
"Aaron Flynt is the uncle of Sue Landers."
Peter saw Gabriel go pale.
"Sue…Who's that?" Claire asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Gabriel and Hiro.
"A woman Sylar killed to take her ability," Hiro explained. "The ability to tell if someone is lying. He killed her in her office. On her birthday."
Claire swallowed hard, and stared at Gabriel. Gabriel stared at the floor. Peter drew himself up.
"Okay, so this Flynt guy is her uncle and he's after us. What about Noah?"
"Yeah—did you find my dad?" Claire asked quickly. Emma finally stood up, and began watching Hiro closely as she wiped off her hands. Hiro and Ando nodded.
"Noah escaped," Ando said. "He is hiding with a small group of other people who have abilities—some ones from Samuel's carnival. He has been helping us with our investigation."
"So what makes you think Flynt is heading here?" Peter asked.
"He has been hunting specials," Hiro said, his voice grave. "Locking them up or killing them on sight. They are scattering everywhere—no big city is safe. But the other day, we found a report that eventually came out on the news—a report Flynt will investigate." Hiro's gaze landed on Gabriel. "Some motorcycle men said they saw an angel."
Everyone went still. Emma's brow furrowed.
"An angel?"
"Gabriel," Peter whispered. Hiro nodded once.
"Yes. Gabriel. And they said he could fly, and shoot lightning from his hands, and pick them up into the air."
"Most people thought they were just crazy, or drunk," Ando said. "But Flynt is putting the pieces together."
Peter felt Emma's hand brush his. He opened his fingers and entwined his with hers.
"Okay, so you think he's getting close?" Peter pressed. Both Hiro and Ando nodded.
"Very," Ando said. "He may be sending a team this way soon."
"So we should leave," Gabriel said.
"Noah has another plan," Hiro stated. "This is only revenge for Flynt. Noah says if we turn Sylar over to Flynt, Flynt would stop hunting the others. And us."
No one said anything. Claire's face turned red, and she looked down. Fire rose in Peter's chest.
"Absolutely not," he said firmly.
"Peter, you haven't even thought about—" Ando started.
"No, this is non-negotiable," Peter shot back, gripping Emma's hand. "We're a team—we're a family. The second we start turning on each other, the sooner we invite an end to all of us."
"You call him your family?" Ando cried. "I still don't understand—"
"I don't care if you do or don't!" Peter roared.
"Peter—" Gabriel murmured.
"No, no, no," Peter shook his head. "And I don't care what Noah says, either." He turned and met Gabriel's worried eyes. He lowered his voice. "We are not turning you in. Period. End of story." He faced Hiro and Ando. "So what's plan B?"
The two friends sighed, glanced at each other, and then Hiro spoke.
"Well…We can go right back to New York and see if we can stop Flynt there, before he comes here, whatever way we can, and you…" He shrugged. "Could find somewhere else to hide."
"Okay, I like that plan better," Peter said.
"It's not really a plan," Claire muttered, still flushed.
"It's better than turning Gabriel over to that man," Emma decided. "We can find another place."
"Okay, good," Peter nodded. "We'll leave really early tomorrow morning, after we're all packed."
"You should leave now," Hiro advised.
"That's an overreaction. Flynt can't teleport here. It'll take him a day or two," Peter countered. "Besides, we don't even know where we're going, and we can't see in the dark."
"Fine," Hiro said shortly, his expression closed. Peter instantly stepped toward him put a hand to his shoulder.
"I'm sorry Hiro—we really are grateful for everything you've done, okay?"
Hiro's irritation disappeared, and he smiled.
"Okay." He grew serious, his bright eyes holding Peter's. "Just be careful. There is no telling what a man will do for revenge."
Peter nodded.
"Thanks."
Hiro reached out a hand to Ando. Ando sighed heavily, looked at Claire, Emma, Peter and Gabriel, then took Hiro's hand. The next second, they disappeared. Emma pushed a strand of hair out of her face.
"I guess we didn't need to make more food," she murmured. Peter glanced at the mess he had made.
"Guess not. But we'd better eat it all, anyway. Who knows when we'll get to eat again."
VVVVVVVVVVV
I sat on the couch in my library, reading by the light of a single kerosene lamp. I was only in the middle of The Princess Bride.
A sad wind blew around the walls of the house, moaning. I tucked my feet under myself and wrapped my blanket around my shoulders. I closed the book and sighed at the number of pages left. There was no way I would finish.
"You could always take it with you," a quiet voice noted from behind me. I did not turn.
"In the common vernacular, that's called stealing," I growled.
I sensed a shrug.
"Think of it as borrowing…without permission."
I rolled my eyes.
"Oh, well then it's okay."
Movement finally caught my eye, and I looked up to my left to see Sylar's shadowed form trail into the room, hands in his pockets, eyes scanning the half-dark spines of the books on the shelves.
"Something you wanted to 'borrow'?" I jabbed, though I kept my voice down. He shook his head.
"No," he said absently. "I've read all of these."
My eyes flashed, and I glanced around the room.
"Um…all of—"
"Yes." He faced me. He shrugged again, lifting one eyebrow. "Peter and I had a lot of time to kill up here." He tapped his temple. I didn't know what to say to that, so I returned my attention to my book. But he knew I wasn't reading. He shifted, and I felt him grow restless.
"I don't understand Peter," he muttered. I frowned at him.
"What do you mean?"
His shoulders tightened, and his brow furrowed.
"Why he keeps insisting on not turning me in." He lifted his face to me. "It's what ought to happen—he knows that and so do I. So does everyone."
I stared at him.
"W-What?" I stammered.
He glanced at me, then moved to the tall window.
"Don't imagine that Peter is ignorant," Sylar murmured, bracing his hand on the window frame and gazing out. "He knows everything I've done and said and felt. But he's forgiven me." His voice quieted. "So he doesn't see, anymore. He doesn't comprehend the hatred other people still feel toward me. The justified hatred." He lowered his head. "He has forgotten on purpose." He gave me a half smile. "Unfortunately, I can't expect that kind of grace from everyone."
My hands closed tightly around the book. His smile faded, and he gazed at my face.
A car door slammed. I froze.
"What was that?" I hissed. Sylar's head whipped around to face the window. And then he lifted a finger. The kerosene lamp went out.
We plunged into darkness. I stayed still, listening. For a moment, there was nothing.
And then the front door blasted open.
I leaped to my feet, almost falling over my blanket. Shouted commands banged through the lower rooms, along with dozens of heavy, booted footsteps. I clasped my throat with both hands.
"They found us," I gasped.
"We see you!" one voice bellowed from the parlor. "Come out from behind there! Now! Both of you!"
"Sir, what is the meaning of this? Why have you broken into our—"
"Shut up and put your hands on your head."
"Peter," Sylar cried softly in recognition. I heard him start toward the door.
"Stop!" I yelped, stretching out a blind hand.
"I can't," Sylar's voice was frenzied. "Peter's down there and they're going to—"
"No, don't!" I insisted, though my chest felt like it was ripping open. "They know what you look like! If you go down there and save them, they'll be sure to blame Peter and Emma for the murders!"
Sylar's ragged breathing echoed through the room.
"You're right," he said hoarsely.
"You can't do this," Peter's voice rang out.
"Oh, we can't? This isn't even your house. Get on your knees."
"But—"
"Do it!"
A table lamp crashed to the floor.
"Don't hurt him!" That was Emma's voice. And then a wicked slap resounded. She yelped. Peter swore violently. I covered my face with my hands, locking my own cries in my throat.
"Claire," Sylar whispered through his teeth.
"What?" I rasped.
"Claire, come here."
"I can't see you," I snapped.
"You can hear me. Step this way and I'll meet you in the middle."
"Why?" I retorted, my mind spinning.
"Just do it. Please."
Trying not to trip over the blanket, my heartbeat hammering in my ears, I shuffled forward, my hands out in front of me.
Sylar's warm hands caught mine. And then he slid his arms around my waist and picked me up, pressing me to his chest.
"What are you—"
"If what you say is right," he muttered in my ear. "We can't even be here."
And the window behind us swung open. Cold night win hit me. I twisted my head to see out—
And then we were airborne. We shot out into the moonless night, high over the rooftop and the dozen cars parked on the lawn of the bed and breakfast. We raced away at top speed, the wind tearing through our hair and clothes…
I wrapped my arms around Sylar's shoulders to keep from falling and gritted my teeth, realizing from Sylar's erratic heartbeat that both of us wanted nothing more than to turn around, shoot straight back there and storm to the rescue.
But we couldn't.
We couldn't.
Not if we wanted Peter and Emma to have any chance at all.
VVVVVVVVV
Peter couldn't take hold of Emma's hand or arm as they were hauled out to the car—his hands and hers were handcuffed behind their backs. They opened a car door and threw him inside, and tossed Emma in right after him. She landed hard against Peter's shoulder.
Peter grimaced as the helmeted man slammed the door on them. He wanted to ask Emma if she was okay, but the only light came from a distant streetlamp, and it was behind him. She couldn't see him.
The next moment, a driver climbed into the car, started the engine, and with a rumble and the squeal of tires, they sped away from the bed and breakfast. A plastic partition separated Peter and Emma from the driver.
Peter grunted and shifted, trying to get more comfortable and help Emma to sit up. She huddled close to him, shivering. Peter twisted to squint out the back window.
Flynt's men, on his orders, had raided the whole house. Flynt—a tall, foreboding, silent presence—eyes hard, head bowed, had stood there in his long dress coat, saying nothing, scanning the living room, as the SWAT-like team had inspected every bit of the house.
But they had not found Gabriel or Claire.
Peter faced front again. His mind raced ahead of the car, fighting against the thought that all this was his fault, pondering where they were going, what Flynt was planning to do, where Gabriel and Claire had gone—
His thoughts ground to a halt. His jaw tightened. There was something he had to do before he considered himself, Gabriel, or even Claire. Something he had put off for too long already.
He turned his head and pressed his face to Emma's hair.
"Emma," he said, so she could feel him speaking. She lifted her face to him.
And he pressed a firm kiss to her lips.
For just an instant, Peter heard nothing—not even the sound of the car—and his heart skipped a beat in his chest. He broke from her. In the flash of a streetlamp, he saw her eyes widen.
"I've been meaning to do that for a while," he explained. "Just figured it was about time to get with the program."
He had no idea if she caught any of that. But after watching him in the shadows for a moment, she snuggled closer to him, tucking her head under his chin.
"Okay…" Peter let out a measured breath, closed his eyes—and let his mind race.
TO BE CONTINUED