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Chapter 2

West

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Bob Bishop walked into Noah's cell in the Primatech basement. By way of greeting, Bob threw a bulletproof vest at him.

"Sylar has your daughter," was all Bob had to say. "I assume you'll play nicely with the Company?"

Noah slipped the vest over his head like a second skin. "Anything to see Claire safe and that bastard good and dead."

He held his hand out for his gun.

With a smile, Bob handed Noah his pistol. "Welcome back."

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Sylar knocked on the front door of the apartment.

"You didn't let me save those cops you attacked," Claire said with venom. "You're a liar."

He shook a finger at her. "If they'd come back, I would have had to kill them all over again. You can't save everyone, Claire."

"They will come back," she said, growing in intensity. "They'll never stop coming for you. And one day, Peter will–"

Sylar groaned. "When will everyone shut up about that martyr? He nearly blew up New York."

Claire gave a vicious smile. She couldn't wait to see Peter punch Sylar's smug face.

The door opened. West looked confused. "Claire? Is everything–"

"FLY, WEST, FLY!" she screamed.

It took West a second before he understood. Then, launching into the air, he flew for the window.

Sylar was faster. One hand outstretched, he caught West in mid-air, levitating off the ground. Only West's eyes moved, flicking to Claire in terror.

Sylar rolled his eyes at her. "Really, Claire? That was your grand plan?"

"I had to try something." Her glare at Sylar faltered. West was terrified – and he kept looking to Claire to put it right.

Sylar shook his head. "Pathetic. Try something that stupid again and I won't let you save him."

Claire stepped toward the monster, fury dripping from each syllable. "If you stop me, I will make every moment of the rest of your life a living hell."

Sylar looked at her from under his eyebrows with a wolfish smile. "Promise?"

Claire snarled. "Don't–"

But he held up a hand. "Relax, Claire Bear. Not today. You can save your precious boy."

Both sets of eyes turned toward West, still frozen mid-flight.

"You, on the other hand," Sylar said to him. "Shouldn't relax at all. I expect this will hurt – badly."

"I'm so sorry, West," Claire whispered.

Sylar snorted. "There's no need to get dramatic, Claire. I'm only going to crack open his skull."

He raised a finger. West screamed.

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Before today, Claire had never heard the sound a skull makes when it cracks. Now, she'd heard it twice. Oddly enough, her own had been the less traumatizing of the two, with the distraction of fearing for her life and everything. With West's… Claire could hear the sound over and over again. She wondered if she'd hear it for the rest of her life.

"Okay, Claire!" Sylar yelled to the girl in the corner of the room, tears running down her face. "I'm done!"

Wiping her eyes, Claire came closer. A pool of blood spilled across the ground. West's eyes fixed blankly on the ceiling.

"You're a monster," she whispered, her voice still thick with tears.

Sylar shrugged. "Probably."

Claire stuck the needle in her arm, drawing the plunger back to hold as much of her blood as it could carry.

Pulling it out, she knelt beside West's corpse. "I'm so sorry," she said, brushing strands of hair out of his eyes. "I should have destroyed your file. This is all my fault."

"Yes, yes," Sylar said from behind her. "Tick tock, Claire."

She plunged the syringe into West's arm. Moments passed. Nothing happened.

Claire frowned. "Why isn't it-"

West's eyes cleared. He sucked in a breath - and began screaming.

Behind her, Sylar grinned. "You forgot to reattach his head."

Claire yanked West's scalp toward her. Wincing, she lined it up carefully with his exposed skull. The wound closed all-too slowly. Finally, his screams stopped.

"I'm so sorry, West," Claire sobbed as the boy struggled to his feet. "So sorry."

West only spared her a disgusted glare. The moment he got to his feet, he flew through the window.

"Now wasn't that touching," Sylar said. "You saved a life, Claire! How does it make you feel?"

Claire could only look down at her hands, covered in her boyfriend's blood.

The door burst open. Agents surged into the apartment with Noah Bennet at the forefront. He took one look at Claire. Then his gun turned to Sylar.

He emptied his clip into the psychopath. Sylar stumbled backward with the force of each bullet.

The moment Sylar was down, Noah rushed to Claire. "It's alright, Claire," he said, holding her close. "Everything's going to be alright."

Claire kept batting her father's hands away. "He can heal, Dad! You don't understand, you have to-!"

An invisible force ripped Claire from her father's arms. It pulled her to the window. A completely-fine Sylar wrapped an arm around her, tilting his head. "You should listen to your daughter more, Noah. It really would be good for your health."

Claire turned on him. "Don't you dare-"

But the window was open, and, holding Claire, Sylar simply flew them through it.

Looking down as they flew, she saw her father run to the window, the sight rapidly receding as they soared higher.

"You're sick," Claire yelled to Sylar, barely audible over the racing wind.

Sylar smiled. "No, I'm Superman."

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They landed at a gas station that had seen better days. Looking around her, Claire wondered what part of the country they were even in. It felt like they'd flown for hours, but for all she knew, it could still be California.

Sylar exited the station bathroom, indicating her turn with an overly elaborate wave. Claire slammed the door behind her.

She gripped the graffitied sink like a lifeline. Should she have run? Those few moments unattended outside where she hadn't, did that make her an accomplice? She was here to help people, dammit. So why did she feel so dirty?

Turning on the tap, Claire scrubbed at her hands. West's blood had long since dried into a crust. She'd been helping him, Claire tried to repeat to herself. She still had the bloody syringe in her back pocket to prove it.

When she stepped outside, Sylar flung a bunched up jacket at her. "You're still covered in blood. Can't have anyone call the cops on us, can we? You know what I do to cops."

Claire said nothing. She simply pulled the jacket on.

He smiled. "Good. Now I expect my niece to be a perfect lady while we talk to that old geezer at the motel."

He offered her an arm, but Claire yanked away. "Motel! I'll never-"

Rolling his eyes, he grabbed her arm, forcibly looping it through his own. "You have such a dirty mind. Not even I would stoop that low."

"I've met monsters like you," Claire said. "You have no idea how low they'll stoop."

Sylar stopped. He looked over at her, a frown creasing his brow.

Claire smiled sweetly up at him. "I've always wanted a serial killer for an uncle. You don't think you'll mind if I brag to the desk clerk, will you?"

"She won't live if you do," he said and resumed walking. "Be good, niece. Or else I'll tell her your name is Petunia."

Claire snorted. "That's rich, coming from my Uncle Digby."

He laughed. "I knew a dog named that, once."

"What happened to it?"

Sylar shrugged. "It died."

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The little old lady at the front desk pushed her glasses down her nose. "You want the room for how long?"

"Oh, just the night, don't you think, Natalie?" Sylar said. He was enjoying this far too much. "We've got to be on our way to the family reunion tomorrow."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Should have taken a plane."

"But Natty" He leaned down to her. "You know how I'm afraid of flying!"

The old lady smiled politely. "That'll be $120 for the night."

"For a little dirt hole like this?" he muttered under his breath. Fishing in his pocket, he pulled out twenty after twenty, stacking them on the counter. He added an extra one with a wink. "For such a kind soul."

"There are two beds, right?" Claire asked her.

"Of course, dear," the lady smiled at her.

"Should have gotten two rooms," Claire muttered. "My uncle snores."

Sylar's smile was all for her. "If I'd done that, Natty, you could have run away! I know how you hate family reunions."

"Bite me," she replied.

Still smiling, he shook his head, turning to the old lady. "Children these days, am I right? No respect."

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He steered her toward the room, a hand at her back. Claire shook it off. "I chose to be here, alright? Stop acting like I'm about to bolt."

Sylar shrugged. "I'm sure you won't. You wouldn't want me to get mad and pop a few skulls."

He slid the keycard into the door, holding it open for her. Claire rolled her eyes. Such a gentleman.

The moment they were inside, Sylar flicked his fingers. The bed closest to the door scraped across the floor, blocking the entrance. The latches on the windows warped, twisting shut.

"I call this bed," Sylar said nonchalantly, flopping on top of it.

Claire looked down at him, hands on her hips. "What happened to being sure I wouldn't run away?"

He shrugged, playing with the frayed end of his sleeve. "Yes, but it'd be such a hassle if you did." Tilting his head, he looked up at her. "I'm getting used to your company."

"Great." Claire flung her jacket at her bed, staring down at her still bloodstained shirt and shorts. Even her socks held a tinge of pink. "Just great."

Sylar had closed his eyes, arms laced behind his head. "There's a shower in the bathroom. Might even have gross motel bathrobes for you."

Claire looked at him silently, then stormed to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.

When she finally emerged, hair wet and body wrapped in a motel bathrobe, he was already asleep. He looked almost peaceful, sleeping on top of the sheets, one arm draped casually across his chest. Or, he would have, if she hadn't known what those hands had done today. Twice.

What was the phrase? Let sleeping dragons lie?

Claire tiptoed to the window, hoping to do exactly that. Running away would be futile, she knew, but there was a payphone just down the street. She could see it tempting her in the light of the lamp above it. One quick call home, then sneaking back in and he'd never be the wiser.

Saving lives was one thing. Preventing him from hurting anyone ever again would be even better.

Normally, the window would have been next to his bed, but he'd pulled it forward to block the door. Meaning, if Claire could just be quiet enough, she'd have a clear route in and out of the room.

She put a hand on the latch, testing it. The metal was bent shut. She tugged, willing it to open. After a few more attempts, Claire let go. It was hopeless. Maybe a buff, six-foot man could rip it open, but a highschool girl barely cracking five feet never stood a chance. Not for the first time, she cursed her power for being so useless. She couldn't even beat a window. Claire stepped away from her only chance at escape.

"Wise choice," Sylar said.

She spun to face him. "Do you ever stop being creepy?"

Still lying on the bed, he lifted the arm draped across himself in a shrug. "I try not to. Makes life more fun."

With a huff of frustration, Claire threw herself on the other bed. Muffling her face in her pillow, she asked, "Do I even want to know where you got the money?"

"The traditional way. Robbed an ATM."

Claire sighed.

After a few moments, she rolled under the blankets, trying to get comfortable. A serial killer was lying only a few feet away from her. He'd murdered and robbed just today - and would do it all over again in a heartbeat.

"What's on the agenda for tomorrow?" Claire asked.

"I'm not sure yet." The rough husk of sleep still laced Sylar's voice. "Thanks to Fly Boy, the whole country's our oyster. We don't even need to steal a car."

We. She wanted to vomit.

He yawned. "I'm always game for knocking off a Petrelli, but that feels like eating dessert before the main course." He looked over at her, the faint glow from the streetlight illuminating one side of his face. "You know of any good ones?"

Claire snorted. "As if I'd tell you."

He turned over in bed, completely unbothered. "Suit yourself. Any we go for now you won't have to worry about me killing later."

"How thoughtful."

Sylar laughed. "Goodnight, Cheerleader."

Claire blinked up at the darkness of the ceiling. "Goodnight, Creep."