"You should go home. Sometime this year would be good."
Shadow wearily glanced toward the door, not surprised to see Peter leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed, and a frown on his face. She suppressed a sigh. He came in here every day to see her, and almost always said the same thing, or something along the lines thereof. She avoided his eyes and reverted her gaze back to hospital bed, watching her brother breathe rhythmically.
It had been a little over a month since Thomas was brought to the hospital. Shadow had increasingly spent more and more time at his bedside, prompting Peter to request another bed for the room so the girl could get some decent sleep; his argument about the health of her baby had been more than enough to persuade the staff. The month passed slowly, the days blurring together in Shadow's mind. Her hands unconsciously clenched the bed sheets as she remembered the events that had occurred on Valentine's Day.
* * * * * *
February 14
Thomas ambled up the street, his stride not having any particular rhythm. A slight smile seemed permanently fixed upon his face; he couldn't remember the last time he had felt such happiness. Before the accident back in Michigan, he was sure of that. But somehow his sister's little bump – growing bigger every day – made the days brighter, his mood lighter.
An uncle. The concept was still foreign in his mind, but it was a comfortable unfamiliarity. He could already picture tiny toes and fingers, beautiful golden eyes wide and staring back into his own. His smile widened. Not long now . . . just over three months to go. He couldn't wait to hold that little baby in his arms.
And he was so proud of Fae for handling her situation the way that she was. She had accepted the responsibility like an adult and understood the weight of that responsibility. Earlier in the week he had looked at her – really looked at her for the first time in months, if not years, and realized that his kid sister had grown up before his eyes and he hadn't even noticed. She held herself like a woman (a pregnant woman, but woman nonetheless) and her sharp eyes sparkled with maturity.
He shook his head. When had that happened?
Thomas was musing on this when the world went dark and silent, and he collapsed in a numb heap to the cement.
~ - ~ - ~ - ~
He woke up before long, blood roaring in his ears. He winced and attempted to bring a hand to his head, but his limbs didn't seem to be cooperating. It felt as though his body wasn't even there at all, and he was merely a consciousness existing in a plane of space. A face suddenly appeared, hovering over his, and he realized he could hear.
"Hello. You don't look confused. Not like the others. You look scared. Scared as hell." The person chuckled. "That's the normal thing to feel, I guess."
Thomas moved his eyes frantically. He knew who this was – this person with abilities. The one who taunted him as he lay helpless on the ground.
"You appear to be thinking, too. That's different. Most of them don't think. They can't even string a sentence together." The person laughed mockingly. "You can't either, though. Can't speak if you can't feel your tongue, can you?" The person tilted their head cockily. "You know, I might like to hear what you have to say, though. You do look so frenzied." A smile spread across their lips, a smile that exuberated the warmth of ice. "If someone is given the chance for his last words, what would he say?"
And then Thomas was a consciousness existing in a plane of space with a tongue. A tongue with which to form words – or rather, word. One word.
"Shadow."
~ - ~ - ~ - ~
The surrounding darkness pulsed and absorbed the desperation and fear in that name, and it traveled from one dark corner to the next, between the flickering shadows, crawling up the shaded side of the apartment wall and seeped through the tiny cracks in the window panes, quickly finding the soul in the room who could interpret the silent message it carried.
Shadow stilled and sat up straight as the darkness surrounded her, gently probing into her mind. She gasped loudly as the scene unfolded and she heard her name spoken by her brother's mouth. Thomas lay incapacitated on the ground, his eyes panicked. A figure stood over him, chuckling darkly.
"Thomas," she whispered, her voice strangled. "Oh, my God, no!"
Peter dropped to his knees, grabbing for her hands. "What's wrong, Shadow? What's happening?"
"That special!" she nearly screamed. "The one killing everyone! Thomas . . . no!"
"Where?" he demanded, gripping her wrists tightly.
Her gaze unfocused, concentrating on the sight behind her eyes and the information being fed to her through shadows. "Five blocks east. The alley next to the Jamieson Apartments." She knew the area well enough.
Peter quickly unlatched the window and shoved it open, a blast of frigid winter air swirling about the apartment. He glanced back over his shoulder and forced her to hold his stare. "Stay here, Shadow. I'll come back and get you later. Do you hear me?" he nearly growled, making sure he saw the understanding in her eyes. "Stay here."
He propelled himself out the window and hovered midair for a heartbeat before taking off to the east. The buildings passed quickly and before long he reached the tell-tale blue roofs that were characteristic of the Jamieson Apartments. He hung suspended, his eyes searching out the two persons beneath; he spotted them, Thomas pulled up by his attacker, his face being mercilessly pounded. The blood already flowed freely, but Peter knew that Thomas did not feel the pain, did not see the face that mocked him, did not hear the sickening sound of flesh on flesh, did not smell the metallic sharpness, did not taste copper crimson. It was a horrible sight to witness – evil at its worst.
Peter ground his teeth. That man needed his chance to be a great uncle to that baby. Shadow needed her brother. He clenched his fists. This person would not take Thomas Montgomery. Peter fell into a dive, air rushing past his face.
"Hey!" he shouted. The person looked up, startled, fist frozen over their shoulder.
Taking advantage of the hesitation, Peter swooped in and locked his arms around Thomas's torso, ripping him from the person's grasp. He sped away, carrying the other man's dead weight, ignoring the shouts quickly fading behind. Peter grunted – the task wasn't easy. He inspected Thomas's face.
Unconscious, he thought. He flew towards the hospital, gripping the man tightly.
"You are not going to die," Peter whispered fiercely in his ear. "Shadow needs you. You will not die."
* * * * * *
Present
"He's going to pull through, Shadow. He knows there's something waiting for him here."
Shadow turned blank eyes on Peter. "Coma," she said hollowly. "Do you know what that means, Peter?"
"It means he's allowing his brain to reboot and heal itself. How would you feel if you were beaten senseless? And I use that in quite the literal sense, mind you."
She remained quiet, gazing at a point somewhere over his shoulder. "Anything from Lee yet?" she asked after a while.
Peter's mouth tightened into a line and Shadow had her answer. She sighed and turned away.
"He's working on it, Shadow. Just like always. He says that it's personal now."
"And you told him everything?"
He blew out a stream of air. "Yes. Every little detail, not that it's doing much good."
"Why didn't you take him out then?"
Peter bristled some at the accusation in her tone. "Excuse me for trying to save your brother's life, Shadow. Next time I'll go for the serial killer and let Thomas die, shall I?"
She was across the room before either of them truly realized it, swinging her fists wildly, landing a few weak blows across his chest. He reacted quickly and dodged the blows, enraging Shadow even further. She threw her entire body at him and he caught her in his arms, grasping her wrists and twirling her so that her arms were pinned. She couldn't move; Peter had effectively trapped her.
Shadow sobbed hysterically, broken sounds that sounded ripped from her chest. Peter subtly shifted his stance, relaxing into a comforting embrace. He held her as she cried, listened as she babbled incoherently and hugged her as she bawled some more.
"I'm sorry," he whispered into the curve of her neck. "That was uncalled for. I'm so sorry, Shadow."
A sob wracked her body and she shuddered against him, not fighting anymore, but clinging to him as though he were her last lifeline. In a way, to Shadow, he was. What happened when everyone she ever cared about gets killed?
When she had settled down a bit, Peter made to guide her to the bed next to Thomas's. Shadow shook her head.
"No, I have to get out of this room," she whispered shakily. Her hands swiped at her face. "I'm just going for a walk."
"Let me come with you," he offered, eyes burning as he looked into hers.
Shadow took a step backward. "I can't, Peter. I need to be alone."
He nodded in understanding. "Don't strain yourself, Shadow." He gestured toward her belly. "Think of little Allison."
She left the room with a half-smile on her face. Her feet took her to the elevator and down to the lobby, and out the street. Shadow abruptly turned down the first dark alley she found.
This ends now, she thought viciously. You mess with my brother, you mess with me.
And I don't take too kindly to it.
She stayed between the buildings, hands occasionally reaching up to caress her protruding bump.
"Are you okay in there, baby?" she murmured. "I promise we're in for a long rest soon. Mommy's gotta do something first, though. It's important."
Shadow had come to the conclusion sometime over the past month. The only way these mindless killings were going to stop was if someone stronger put an end to it. After all, hadn't she theorized that if Sylar had been here the person would never have gotten farther than the one murder? He could take out anyone.
That responsibility fell to her now, it seemed. This other person, their ability only worked within the mind, where the senses presided. Shadow, though, she could create physical objects from the darkness if she so desired. She would, given the chance.
The second component of her theory was a little sketchier. It had never occurred to her before, but then there had never been a reason to think of it before. Couldn't the shadows protect her mind? Form some kind of barrier that negated that of her enemy? Shadow strongly believed that her hypothesis would prove correct, but therein lay the gamble. If she was wrong, this person would most likely kill her. Kill her baby. Her Allison Gabrielle.
Shadow's arms automatically wrapped around her belly. It had to work. It absolutely had to.
Not my baby.
"I love you so much," she whispered to her bump and the little girl inside. "More than you even know, my baby."
"That's one I've never seen before."
Shadow whirled promptly, fighting not to lose her balance. Baby bellies tended to do that, apparently. Damn center of gravity. Her thoughts ceased, however, overwhelmed by shock and surprise.
"Pregnant women shouldn't wander the back alleys of New York, I should think."
Shadow only stared, pupils nearly blocking out the deep chocolate of her irises.
"You aren't going to talk? I haven't even done anything yet."
She finally found her voice. "Hell. You've got to be kidding me."
A/N: Heehee, more cliffhangers! This is a slightly shorter chapter – the showdown is up next.
Thank you to all that reviewed! It made me so happy knowing that you guys like what you're reading. Don't stop just because I acknowledged it, though. Review more! Perhaps more reviews will prompt the release of the next chapter . . . hint hint hint.