Snapshots from Elsewhere

Chapter 37

Who is Malcolm Grant?

Part 3

Malcolm Grant isn't crazy.

He just sees glowing lines, that tell him what could happen. He is the master of chaos, untrained but growing stronger. And now, he is the prisoner of Pinehearst, locked away by a man that should be dead, to help him make an army of superheroes.

Malcolm Grant isn't crazy.

^&^&^&^

(Pinehearst-March 18th, 2007)

Maury Parkman approached Arthur Petrelli's stately bed, looking down at the prone form of his employer. Though to the rest of the world it would appear that Arthur was completely crippled, he was anything but. Arthur held the power to destroy worlds, and soon he would return to the man he once was, and take his vengeance against those that dared to have put him there.

"You wished to see me, sir?"

Arthur Petrelli stared at him.

"Yes…we have been observing him for 4 months…we are sure of the diagnosis."

Arthur blinked.

"…I can not access his mind…its not wall, like you and your wife has set up…I could make a hole if it was. Its like…undergrowth. Millions upon millions of threads and cords, blocking my way…" He paused, reading Arthur's thoughts. "No, it can't be deliberate…who would do that to themselves?"

Arthur stared at him for several seconds.

"Yes…I do believe he is still of some use to us. He can communicate, he can answer questions…if we proceed carefully, I believe his condition will actually make him a better asset than if he were in his right mind. He is naïve…he'll take orders. We just need to do it correctly."

Arthur closed his eyes.

"Yes…yes sir…we'll take you to him right now."

^&^&^&^

It was a small cell.

7 feet by 7. Barely enough room for a bed and the small corner that served as a shower; though one could only tell it was a shower by the small drain in the floor and the hole in the ceiling where luke warm water would fall.

Not like Malcolm enjoyed showers. It took the guards working in pairs to get him to stand and bath.

Otherwise, he merely lay in his bed, staring off into space and mumbling, lost in the jumble that was his shattered mind.

Behind the heavy glass that formed one of the walls, Arthur Petrelli watched on as Maury entered the cell with several guards, though only for show. Malcolm might as well be a piece of furniture.

A piece of furniture that held the potential to be the world's most powerful seer.

"Malcolm…this Arthur Petrelli."

The British man blinked. "Petrelli…family of strength…of power…liars…all liars…"

Maury glanced over at Arthur, who narrowed his eyes.

"Malcolm…I am going to let Arthur speak directly too you…can you manage?"

"Can the father manage when the son beats him?" Malcolm asked, tilting his head. "Aid from others, from Petrelli, saved you." His head twitched. "Never touch Matt's girls."

Maury wasn't disturbed by the comments. Malcolm had warned him of this before, when he had been working for Adam, seeing if the other founder would work for Arthur. It had only been Malcolm's warning that had allowed him to prepare for his loss, and give Arthur an in to help him escape the trap Matt had created.

"Yes…but this isn't about me…this is about you. You gonna be able to handle Petrelli…"

Malcolm's head snapped eyes, his eyes filled with fire. "I'm stronger than you think." Instantly his was back to his lost state, mumbling about shots heard round the world.

'Malcolm.'

Malcolm's head snapped up. "Petrelli."

Arthur stared at him. 'Malcolm, I need your help…I apologize for the conditions you have faced, but we needed to do it to protect you.'

"Protect me?" Malcolm giggled like a school girl. "Can't protect himself, can't protect his family. Petrellis kill Petrellis…father against son, wife against husband, brother against brother…"

'We all do what we convince ourselves is best…myself, Angela, Nathan…'

"Peter."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. 'Peter could never…'

"The scarred one…he shoots to kill. Older, not wiser…" Malcolm gave Arthur a dark, knowing smile. "I'M the bloody Lord of Chaos…not him."

'I need you to focus, Malcolm. I have waited long enough…I thought Adam could do the job, but he's gone mad. He doesn't understand what needed to be done. But…do you? Have you seen what I need to do?'

"A grand army." Malcolm whispered. "An army of God…led by his voice." He blinked. "Why the bloody hell do some many people eat waffles?"

Arthur's thoughts took on an amused tone. 'I'm not the voice of God, Malcolm, but whatever works for you. And I do enjoy waffles myself. But…you've seen the army…you've seen the good?'

Malcolm frowned. "Bloody stupid Guy Ritche…Madonna ain't British…"

'Malcolm, I don't have time for games. Can you…'

"Adam still serves a purpose."

Arthur blinked. 'He failed…he wants to destroy all of humanity…'

"No…no." Malcolm looked at Arthur's broken body. "Not a leader, but as fodder." He cracked his neck, twitching. "Something changed the balance…the virus that should have come is caught. Maya's a useless chit now, her purpose fluttered away." Malcolm held up his hands, making them flap like bird's wings. "A few days, give it time…Adam falls, placed where dead men go. But the son of Nakamura finds him again…then you find him, and tapping dancing you go."

Arthur sent pleased emotions to Malcolm. 'Good…good…'

"Another you need…the dark one. Sylar. Your Angel lies, makes him a Petrelli…but he isn't, oh no…" Malcolm's voice grew stronger. "Lie…be the father he lacks…and he will give you everything you deserve." Malcolm paused, whimpering suddenly. "I want to see the ocean…I hate the concrete…sodding concrete…I hate it…" He burrowed under the covers of the bed, and would say no more.

Arthur turned his mind to Maury. 'You heard him…keep an eye out for Adam, and keep track of Sylar…he is going to be the one that insures my army comes to pass.' He turned his eyes to Malcolm. 'I want him moved to my Florida estate…maybe the fresh air will make hima bit easier to understand.'

"Yes sir." Maury replied.

^&^&^&^

If either of the men had taken a moment to look into Malcolm's mind at that very second, they would have witnessed the cords that had wrapped themselves around the british man's brain untangle. And behind them, seated in a recliner, the true, sane mind of Malcolm grant studied the threads, as he had spent the last 4 months, subtly tweaking the fabric of reality and probability, making the chaos do his bidding.

Smirking, he thought up a glance of wine, remembering the taste as if he were really sipping it, and watched one thread as it showed him Sylar putting a bullet into Arthur's brain. He turned to another, Pineherst gone, while he was in Florida, safe and sound.

Malcolm had been telling the truth. He had seen a grand army, yes.

Only…it wasn't Arthur's.

"Cheers." He muttered, allowing the threads to wrap around his mind once more.