Heroes - Rise of the Phoenix
Chapter two - Awakenings

The man sat down slowly into his large overstuffed easy chair with a relaxing sign. His muscles released their tension as he closed his eyes with a slight audible groan, and rested his head against the head rest of the overstuffed chair; covered with a soft quilt decorated in a pattern that reminded him of his childhood, now more than six decades in the past. His silvered hair fell across his face in a tangled mess of cowlicks and forgetfulness, with just a shadow of brown curls from a long past youth, now hidden amongst his silver locks. His black rimmed glasses slipped down along his nose and caught at the end of a slim gold chain, avoiding the dreaded drop into his lap, or the folds of the overstuffed chair's cushions. His sweater, now shrunken to almost an unbearable tightness stretched bravely across his slender body, held together by a single remaining but determined button. The thread bare sweater covered his tall, frail frame against the cold of the room. The patches covering his elbows scraped across the arms of the recliner chair as he lifted a hand and pinched his fingertips across on the bridge of his nose, fighting back against an encroaching head-ache; all the while the sounds of traffic and city noise crept into the small room of his very meager home.

The man reached out to a small table beside his chair and encompassed long fingers still strong with dexterity, around a room temperature glass of burgundy wine. The wine was his only vice he still enjoyed now in his later years. It was a comfort against so much loss and anguish. The glass he had placed there on the small table as he had taken his place in his restful throne. He calmly took a sip of his glass as the corner wood burning stove flickered shadow and flame reflections across his face and the walls of the room around him, washing out the pail colors of the city neon lights that invaded his small home through the cracks in his window coverings and the gap below his front door and the floor. The walls around him smelled or dust, wood smoke, and decades of sanitation neglect. The wall paper style from the early 1950s was barely distinguishable through the grime that covered its surface; more brick wall and plaster shown through the pealing and fading wallpaper than it covered after years of abandonment unto the savage elements and human neglect.

The man sipped his wine, and savored his meager indulgence as the chaos and crime of the city that never slept bellowed and raved beyond his doors. Sirens blared as young female voices shouted at the police officers for scaring off their "Johns". Running feet, and squealing tires preceded a crash as metal crunched against metal. A call out from a gruff man's voice followed by a reeving engine and the pop, pop of gun fire caused his heart to jump. It was another night, like so many before. How long had it been? How long had he been hiding, how long had he been running? It had been years since he had lived amongst the upper socialites of any city. It felt like decades since he had slept in clean sheets.

The man placed the glass once more on the small table and rose to his feet slowly. His body was getting tired. He would not be able to keep up the pace much longer. The years of hiding and evading those pursuing after him were taking their toll. He lifted a long 2x4 beam of wood and slipped it into place to block the door for the night. There was no power to the small house, so there was no porch light to switch off, or a heater to turn down. A pot of boiling water billowed with steam and began to whistle from the top of the wood burning stove in the corner of the room that served as a makeshift kitchen. He moved quickly and lifted the pot off the stove before the whistle reached a blaring decibel, and with pot in hand rushed to the door leading down to the basement. He placed an ear against the door and listened intently and waited.

The man strained his ears but heard no movement or sounds from below. With a sign of relief he turned back to his chair which faced the basement door and poured the steaming water into a wide pan on the floor. The stream rose and flowed around his face, filling his breath with the sent of the mint and Aloe he had added to the water. He lowered himself back into his easy chair and one by one pulled his laced up dress shoes, and socks off his sore feet and slid them into the mixer as he closed his eyes.

The man jumped in his heart as a gun fired just outside his door and several stray bullets zipped through the thin wood of his home and over his head. A few small holes were left in the wall letting in small beams of pink neon light, as more sirens blared and tires skidded to a stop in the streets beyond. "This is the New York City Police, lay down your weapon and surrender peaceably!" a bullhorn announced. More gun fire resounded from the streets beyond the thin walls of the house as his ears picked up the sound of small feet running up the stairs beyond the door, which lead to the basement bellow. "Blast! So much for a quiet night." the man thought to himself. The basement door burst open and a small girl in a soft pink nightgown rushed into the room and dove into the man's arms without hesitation. In fear her body trembled. She dug her knee into his chair beside the man and climbed into his lap quaking at the violence in the streets that had woken her from below in the basement. Her small frame she curled into a ball as she whimpered in fear. She was scared, she was frightened.

The man tried to calm her as he spoke in a reassuring voice, "It is alright baby girl, Grandpa is here. It is just some noise outside." The man ran his fingers through the young girls long blond hair. Her hair was so soft and golden. It reminded the man of the girl's mother, before the accident; before the fire. Her perfect skin was flushed and glistened with a hint of sweat, from her fear. He could feel her heart racing inside her small delicate body. She needed to calm down. She needed to rest. "Esmeralda it is alright. There are policemen outside trying to stop a bad man. Look, I have bared the door and covered the window. We are safe. You will be just fine." He could feel a dull pain begin to grow along the edges of his soft tissue. His entire body began to hurt under the pressure being applied. "Sweet heart, you need to practice the techniques I showed you." The man placed a reassuring hand on her small back, as drops of crimson blood landed onto her pink nightgown while she lifted her head and looked into his eyes; which frightened her even more.

The man calmly pulled a cloth from his sweater pocket and pressed it against his nose as blood gushed forth and the floor of the house began to shake. His eyes began to quiver and his vision blurred. His head felt like it was in the center of a vice and someone the size of Thor was turning the crank to tighten the grip. The walls of the house shook and strained under an invisible hand as the girl in his lap began to cry. His head hurt with incredible pain as he fumbled against the mounting pressure on his body and mind, blood trickled down the sides of his face from his ears and the corners of his eyes. He had only a few seconds before he would pass out. He dug out from his shirt pocket a syringe filled with a glowing violet liquid. With shaking fingers he fumbled with the needle cover.

"Please Papa!" the girl cried out with a pleading voice amongst her tears, "no more medicine. I will be a big girl. I will be good!"

"I am so sorry my child, but you are hurting me!" the man gasped through clenched teeth, and lungs that felt like he had just run a marathon. The ground shook with more fierceness and people outside began to scream. Cars screeched and crashed into other vehicles. Women and men squealed in horror of the unknown, as the pressure in their heads built to overwhelming levels. Street lights flickered and exploded in a rain of sparks and glass. Car alarms blared in all directions outside. "You cannot control it baby girl, you're hurting people!" the man pleaded. He knew if she did not take the injection willingly she could stop him, he was fading fast. It was not in her heart to be cruel, she was only frightened. She was not evil, just a little girl with developmental control issues. "Listen! Do you hear the screams child; there are mothers, and babies out there!"

"I'm sorry!" the little girl cried as the man fought against the pressure on his body and with expert skills let the needle slip into her skin just at the base of her neck. The man pressed the plunger on the syringe forcing the glowing violet liquid to flow into her body, into her blood stream, and into her system. As the medicine mixed with her blood her eyes began to droop with weariness. "I'm sorry papa, forgive me."

"It's okay child, Grandpa will make it all better." the man whispered into her ear as the shaking of the house and the pain in his head, and over his body subsided. He had to get out of the City. It was time to run again. The powers were growing too powerful and too fast, the process was accelerating beyond anything he had expected. Something was wrong this time. He desperately needed his equipment, a lab. He needed to get her out of the reach of those that would be coming.

The man edged his way out of the easy chair leaving the small girl curled up on the seat cushion and made his way to the window. He lifted a corner of the burlap sheet he had hung over the cracked and broken window pane to keep the cold of the evening and prying eyes out. The City streets were quiet now as dozens of citizens lay in silent agony on the ground. Police and criminals were unconscious with their hands holding the sides of their heads. "Tomorrow, we will leave in the morning." the man muttered to himself as his ears picked up the soft but determined step of someone climbing the basement stairs. He recognized the step. He knew that sound.

"NO!" She had been sedated for the evening. If she was awake? His heart beat with fear. His mind felt numb. The back of his neck broke out in a cold sweat. He stepped toward the basement door, pulling out of his rear pocket a small stun gun and held it ready. As once again the basement door opened and a young girl stepped out into the room. She wore a soft blue nightgown that matched her eyes perfectly. She had one hand curled into a fist as she rubbed the sleep out of the corner of her eyes. She was identical to the small girl curled up in the easy chair is every detail; even her voice had the same tone and inflections as she asked, "Papa?"

X-X-X

"Twins!" Molly Walker exclaimed as her eyes burned a soft blue light, and a big smile spread across her pixy sized face. Then Molly grabbed her heart and fell to the floor in violent convulsions. Her eyes stopped glowing as her body convulsed about on the open floor at Peter's feet. Her fingers gripped her heart and turned white at the knuckles, against a pain the shot through the little girl's body. Quickly Peter with sudden speed scooped the small body of Molly off the floor and rushed to the couch.

Gabriel quickly handed young Noah to Claire as everyone circled around in concern. "Tracy, I need a cool wet towel." Peter directed as he took his leather wallet out of his rear pocket and forced it between Molly's grinding teeth. Gabriel and Peter lifted Molly gently off the floor and rushed her to her room as she thrashed around in their arms. Angela threw back the covers of the girl's small bed and adjusted the pillows as the men laid her down on the sheets.

Tracy ran for the kitchen sink to wet a towel and was intercepted by Melody who had already found a towel in the bathroom and was rushing back to the small girl with the cool washcloth. "Already have one!" Melody chirped as she rushed past the worried woman and to Peter's side, in the little girl's room. With smoothness from practiced agility she placed the cool compress on the young girl's forehead and placed an emergency kit she had found under the bathroom sink at Peter's side, as she skillfully took over holding the leather wallet in Molly's mouth. With gentle fingers she turned Molly's head to the side and adjusted the cool towel as it started to slide off the little girls face.

The bright cheerfulness of the pinks, blues, and whites of the little girl's room did nothing to calm the fears of the family the gathered around the bed in worry. Young Hiro knelt on the floor beside her bed and laced his fingers through Molly's own and watched with pain as she thrashed about on the bed. His sister stood by the door with a look of fear on her face. She had known it was bad idea to get involved with this group. Death, pain, suffering was all that she associated with the individuals in this room. Hiro was an adult, technically, but until he grew back into his adult body she was his court appointed guardian. She had resisted this trip for the Christmas holiday. But Hiro had thrown a fit, and insisted that Molly was his only friend.

Peter opened the emergency kit and pulled out a stethoscope, and inserted the ear buds in his ears. "She is grabbing her heart!" Melody informed with a calming voice. She pressed her first two fingers against Molly's throat to feel her pulse. "Heart rate is rapid and fluctuating." She released the air in the pressure sleeve she had over Molly's arm, "Blood pressure 220 over 135. She is going to go into cardiac arrest."

"Peter!" Tracy cried as she covered her mouth with her hands in worry.

Peter with one swift turn of his hand opened the top button of the young girls blouse and placed the stethoscope to her chest. He didn't need the stethoscope to hear her heart beat; with his enhanced hearing her heart beat sounded like a freight train in the small bedroom; but it would aide him in a diagnosis of what was wrong. Was this her pain, or someone she was linked to through her powers? The pain happened just as she had linked to two new specials.

Suddenly Molly dropped to the bed, her thrashing over. "I have no pulse!" Melody announced. "Blood pressure is dropping!" She lifted the closed eye lids and looked into the tear filled eyes before her, "Her pupils are fixed and dilated!"

Melody looked at Peter as he did not move. Was he going to let this girl just die? "Not on my watch!" She shouted to herself as she shoved Peter aside and began CPR on the little girl's body. "Someone call 911! Get me an ambulance right away! Uncle Alfred use my phone, it is in my purse by the front door. Don't just stand there like this is the first time you have seen death. We can save her, we can bring her back." Melody stooped her chest compressions and pinched Molly's nose closed as she drew in a long breath. Then Peter placed his hand over Molly's mouth.

"What are you doing? Are you a nurse or what? Let me save her!" Melody screamed in Peter's face. She lifted a fist and pounded it as hard as she could into the center of his chest, "what are you? What kind of monster are you?" Peter said nothing by closed his eyes and rested a hand over the Molly's heart and breathed out slowly. A white glow encompassed the young girl and built to a brightness that filled the room, and then faded. With an arc of the back and a gasp of air Molly came back from the beyond and began to cough violently.

Melody picked up the leather wallet that had fallen out of Molly's mouth and handed it to Peter in stunned silence, as the little girl opened her eyes and began to cry in fear. "It looks like the worse of it has passed." Tracy reassured Molly as she wrapped her loving arms around her child and held her tight in comfort. "Peter, what happened?"

"She must have linked with a special that linked back." Peter thought as he absentmindedly used the cool towel and cleaned Molly's tears away. "Whoever she linked to must have linked back. The mental powers of this new special but be beyond anything Molly had experienced before."

"Their gone! Incredible Pain! More than the boggy man! But I can't feel them now. It's like their hidden in a cloud..." Molly gasped as Peter held a glass of water to her shaking hands and helped her take a drink.

X-X-X

Detective Sam Beckett sat in a rundown diner at the far end of town, nursing a warm cup of coffee. The diner was an old 1950's teen hang out that had long since lost its luster. The paint was a dusty teal blue that had faded over the decades since its last touch up, and the pictures hanging on the walls hailed from a bygone era that boasted of leather jackets, slicked back hair, and hot rods painted with flames and lightening on the sides. Sometimes he would dream as he sat in his usual spot that he had been born in the wrong time. He could imagine his life so much different had he been born twenty years earlier.

It had been a long recovery these last few months. He had clocked in more than twenty years in the force before the Central Park Massacre, the gunning down of his entire precinct, the murder of his brother only a few feet away and he was powerless to stop it. It was only a few months ago, but it felt like a lifetime. Then to return after defeating a devil that he can never tell a living soul about; he came home to find his wife and children dead in a murder suicide. She had been a victim of the Hitler propaganda machine. His babies and his lovely Nova were now buried in small pine wood boxes and a combined burial plot that had drained his life savings. He had taken the past few months off through a combination of accumulated sick leave and vacation pay. He needed to clear his head. He needed to set things straight. He needed to grasp his mind around the new understanding of reality that had been thrust upon him.

Each day the sun had come up just like before. Each day the stars had passed across the sky. Each day his bills came in the mail. Each day his stomach was hungry and his mind alert. Each day seemed like the same as before; but now nothing was the same. He was not the same. His life was forever changed. He had witnessed a woman turn to water; a child's eyes glow blue. He has tele-ported with a military strike force half way across the continent. He had seen a man launch himself into the sky like a comic book superhero, and then there was that Peter Petrelli. He made his brain hurt.

All that death. All that destruction just for one young girl barely out of her teenage years.

He had spent some time with his mother in upstate, but it had not helped. He had traveled to Disneyland all the way in California to fulfill and promise he had made to his wife that last summer, but he had only spent a solitary week sitting glumly in the happiest place on hearth, watching children running and playing with their families with a hollow pit in the depth of his stomach. He had even embarked upon a cruise through the Caribbean Sea and visited several islands, which his mother and extended family had all pitched in to pay for. But the sense of change and fear had not passed. Now on the first night back at work in months he felt more lost than ever.

He felt like he needed direction, purpose. He needed something to happen to get his mind off his own problems. He wished no ill on any living soul, but it was just too quiet, and this quite would never drown out the cries of his mind to make sense of the life changing events that had happened to him. He visited their graves that afternoon, as he had done every afternoon for months. Each visit he pot new flowers on their tombstone and brushed away any fallen leaves or grass that might cover even a corner of the stone. His mother called him daily now to check on him and give him comfort. Would he ever feel better?

His phone set to vibrate began to clatter on the counter beside him. He looked at the caller ID and saw that it was his mom. He would let this one go to voicemail. "Florence, how much for the last slice of your pumpkin pie?" he asked of the waitress as she filled his near empty cup with fresh steaming hot coffee. "That slice?" she asked. "That slice is not for sale." she smiled shoving her white breath minded gum into the side of her mouth, and clenched between her teeth. "That slice is the last fresh baked pumpkin pie in the City that I made with these two hands." The waitress set the pot of coffee on the counter and lifted her small hands up for the man to see. "I am saving it for a special reason."

"Fresh baked? You made that pie?" Sam looked at the slice in the glass case. It had been years since he had had home made fresh baked pumpkin pie. His stomach and now his heart pushed him all the more now to want the slice. "How much, name your price."

"You want my special pie? My last slice of handmade, mama's personal recipe, fresh baked pie?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You want that pie with hand whipped cool cream that will make your heart swoon?

"Yes, Ma'am."

"You want to take my last slice, from the hand that made it and has not even had the opportunity to taste a slice?"

Detective Beckett cautiously looked around the small diner; they were the only ones in the place other than the cook in the kitchen. "We could share?"

"Now that just might be a tempting invitation." Florence smiled as she opened the pie case and placed the plate on the counter. "You know detective, you have been coming into my diner all most every night for the last several months. You seem sad and alone. You have a kind and honest face, but you look as if you have a hole right through the center of your heart."

"You don't know the half of it..." he mumbled as she rambled on.

"You should be with your wife and children tonight of all nights." She pulled out a small refrigerator a container of handmade whipped cream and scooped out a large dollop and decorated the slice of pie with its white pure mound; and topped it with a sprig of mint leaf.

"No wife, no children to go home to." Sam said as vision clouded from watching her every move.

Florence looked at the man sitting at her counter. He was a broken man, but not a lost man. He seemed like a soul that could be repaired if the right person took the wheel.

"Well now, I think I can now name my price." She said as she took a fork and cut a piece of pie and lifted it to the Detectives opening lips. "A dinner that I don't have to cook and a theater show that I can dress up and look sociable for once in my life."

Sam's eyes re-focused on the woman beyond the offered bite of pie. She was a kind woman. What harm could a sing night of a diner and theater be? His mother would be so happy she would drive down just to do his laundry make sure he looked presentable, "Deal."

Florence grinned and placed the fork in the Detectives mouth, as the door opened and the bell rung announcing a new customer, "Be right back, save me a bight."

Detective Beckett's phone rattled once more on the counter. He lifted it and checked the caller ID. It was central dispatch.

X-X-X

Noah Bennet stood in the center of Chaos as he looked around slowly to take what was before his eyes. A section of the old town was now out of power, with street lights blown and shattered for blocks in all directions. He leaned over the hood of his car and marked one more red X on his map. The map fluttered in the mild wind of the early evening as he held the map down with one hand and examined the chart before him. A circle of red X's marked every blown street light and home or business that was now without power. He now stood in the epicenter of that circle.

Ambulances filled the streets as injured people were helped and treated by the emergency response teams. Police cars with their lights flashing washed out the colors of the old city block, into patterns of red and blue. This side of town had been hit hard by the economic down turn and dozens of buildings stood vacant and boarded up against vagrants or vandalism. This was now the new rough section of town where the different gangs were trying to mark their territories, like male dogs marking the trees in their yards. Prostitutes and runaways filled the streets and found shelter at night in some of the abandoned apartment buildings surrounding the area. This was a place the police should be patrolling every hour; but rarely ventured into due to the level of danger and he didn't blame them.

He made a mental note to call Tracy and let her know this was going to take a little longer than he had thought. Molly's attack and this power outage seemed to have happened at the same time. Somehow they were connected. It had been less than 10 minutes after her recovery and he had received a call about the blackout. He had hoped to get home before the cutting of the turkey and presents but it looked like that was not going to happen.

Dozens of people complained of headaches, nausea, and periods of passing out just at the time of the energy blackout. He folded up his map and slipped it into the inner pocket of his jacket as a Police Sergeant approached him. "Detective Benett? I am Officer Zham. I have a few witnesses that can speak to you if you are ready."

"Thank you Officer, I am waiting for my new partner. He should be doing the interviews, you know how it is being a little green and not wanting to compromise the evidence." Noah Benett replied.

"Well these people have been through a lot and want to go home," Officer Zham nodded his head at the new Detective to show that he understood. "They will only be able to wait a little longer. If you can't get to them tonight, you will miss the freshness of the on sight interview."

"I understand, thank you." Noah lifted his phone to his ear to make a call, as he adjusted his Detective badge attached to his belt beside his City issued sidearm; when out of the crowd and fog of the sewer vents his new partner approached. "Here he is now." His new partner looked frustrated and irritated to be called out on a night like this. Almost as if he had been called away from a pivotal moment in his life. His eyes held back a barely contained anger, shielded by the trained mask of concern and professionalism of more than two decades serving the public.

Noah's Bennet's new partner thrust out his hand and took the Officer's outstretched mitt and shook it in a hearty greeting. "Detective Sam Beckett, sorry that I am late. What can you tell me about tonight?" he spoke as he glared at Noah Bennett through the corner of his eye, and whispered to Noah as the Officer led them toward a small group of witnesses; "You're a Detective now?"

"Nice to see you again, Sam." Noah smiled. "How is your mother?"

~ Heroes - Rise of the Phoenix ~

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