As it turned out, finding the group that had attacked the hotel during Peter's speech was easier than Gabriel had thought. Two days after he and Claire had discussed their plan to do so, the group made itself known.
Gabriel was sitting at his coffee table, willing himself to reach out to the contacts that Peter had amassed over the years and wondering how to begin that conversation when Claire came into the kitchen, her eyes wide.
"What happened?" Gabriel heard his voice rising in slight panic at the look on her face, glancing behind her at the front door: still locked.
"There's a video," she gasped, grabbing a chair and pulling it up next to his. He ignored the way that her arm touched his as she turned her phone to the side, pulling up a video.
"A video of what—" She cut him off with a quick 'shhh,' and he couldn't stifle the small stab of annoyance that churned in his stomach. They were still getting on each other's nerves. Still, he pushed it down, glancing down at the video as she hit play.
The footage was grainy, but Gabriel recognized the room almost immediately. The desk off to the side, a paper cutter sitting neatly on the dark wooden surface. Papers scattered on the floor. And Peter, sitting in the chair, his head still attached to his neck.
Gabriel had spent a lot of time in his own head in the past two weeks. Most often he found himself back in his own personal hell, lovingly crafted by Matt Parkman. The desolate New York City streets, devoid of all life and activity. He remembered the time spent with Peter there, the days of screaming and fighting, the days of terse silence and anger, the days of talking - about everything, about nothing. About redemption.
He pushed the thought away now, his eyes focusing instead on the Peter who was on the screen in front of him. His hair was mussed, blood streaking the skin on his cheek as he looked wearily into the camera in front of him, clearly having trouble focusing. A hand reached out and slapped his cheek, hard enough to send his head snapping to the side. Gabriel could hear Claire stifle a gasp next to him, but her hands didn't move as the video continued to play.
"Wake up, Mr. Petrelli." Gabriel immediately recognized the voice as the bearded man. The screen didn't move away from Peter's face, zooming in slightly as he slowly opened his eyes again, staring straight into the camera.
"That's better. We don't have much time," the voice continued. The camera slowly panned out, showing Peter's entire body. He was taped to the chair, blood dripping from his fingertips to the floor from one of the many cuts on his body. It was unclear where he was even hurt.
"What do you want?" Peter groaned. Claire stiffened next to Gabriel, but still she held the video steady.
"That's the question, isn't it," the voice continued, frustratingly patronizing in the way he spoke around the question. "I want you to stop lying to yourself, Mr. Petrelli."
"What are you talking about–" Peter was cut off by another hit to the face, this one slightly more violent than the last.
"I'll tell you when to speak," the voice said, and again the camera panned out. The man seemed unafraid to show himself, stepping into view of the camera next to Peter's form.
"Hello, America," he said, and the smile on his face sent Gabriel's blood boiling. He remembered holding this man's life in his hands and letting him go. He would not make that mistake again.
"Mr. Petrelli here represents the old way of thinking," he continued. "The naive belief that specials, as he calls them, and the rest of humanity can live in peace and harmony. I'm sure many of you disagree with him. I've seen you, protesting on the streets and calling for the lockup of anyone different from you. Calling for a return to the hospitals of two decades ago, despite the barbaric conditions they kept those people in. Mr. Petrelli's lovely niece, Ms. Bennet, can attest to the veracity of that claim."
The man paused, brandishing a knife from his pocket and holding it at his side. "Those hospitals are not the answer. And neither is Mr. Petrelli's nauseating brand of harmony. No; the truth is, specials are too different to live in peace with the rest of the world. Too different. Too dangerous. Too powerful." Here he smiled, lifting the knife higher in his hand.
"It's you who should be living locked away like animals," he said, addressing the camera directly. "Not us. We are stronger than you. We are smarter than you. And there are more of us than there are of you. Your neighbor could be one of us. Your best friend. Your husband, your wife, your child. More of us are appearing every day, and we are sick of hiding."
The man paused again, running the knife along Peter's cheek, tracing the line of the old scar on his skin. Peter grimaced, turning away from the point of the knife, but the man grasped his chin, forcing him to look into the camera.
"This was the face of the man who held your best interests at heart," he continued. "He was the middle ground, and you spit on him. I am what comes next." The man smiled, showing a row of white teeth that he bared more like fangs.
He pressed the knife into Peter's skin, reopening the old scar. Peter, to his credit, didn't make a sound.
"Is there anything you'd like to say, Mr. Petrelli?" the man asked. Peter stared into the camera, pausing for a moment before responding.
"There are more good people than you're accounting for," he said. "Specials and otherwise. You can't start a war."
The man suddenly moved, faster than seemed humanly possible, and a long, thin, red line appeared across Peter's throat. A gurgling noise emanated from his throat as blood bubbled up past his lips, dripping down his chin.
"We'll see about that," he said slowly, wiping the blood onto a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. The camera zoomed in on Peter's face, watching as the blood trickled out of his mouth, listening to the sounds he made as he died.
"I call on all of you who are scared of hiding. The evolved, the powerful; we are more than just 'special,' we are the next stage of human evolution. Rise up and take back your rights. It's time that we take our place at the pinnacle of humanity."
The man paused, smiling at the camera as Peter finally fell silent.
"We'll be in touch," the man finally said, and the video ended.
Gabriel sat in silence for several moments. Claire was holding her phone so tightly in her hands that Gabriel was surprised the screen didn't crack. She suddenly stood, flinging the chair out from behind her and sending it into the wall.
"I'm going to kill that bastard," she spat. Gabriel stood, finding himself oddly calm despite the circumstances. He stepped around the table, blocking Claire's path as she moved towards the front door.
"Where are you going?" he demanded. She stepped to the side, trying to overtake him, but he mirrored her movements.
"Out," she said simply. Gabriel shook his head, feeling the irritation returning.
"You're not thinking clearly," he said, and she laughed, the sound almost frantic.
"I'm thinking pretty fucking clearly, for the first time in a long time," she said. "That bastard killed Peter, and he's going to pay for it." She tried to move around him again, but he blocked her easily, his large frame towering above hers.
"And how are you going to find him?" Gabriel demanded. "Are you just going to go out and ask everyone you pass on the street if they've seen him? Use your head, Claire! Everyone will have seen that video by now. He used your name. People know who you are, and they're going to want to talk to you. Your apartment is probably already swarmed with reporters, more than before. All you'll be doing is putting a target on your back."
"Why would they want to kill me?" she demanded, glaring up at him. "You heard him. He wants specials to 'rise up' and take back their rights. Well, I'm rising up. Just not the way he wants."
"That's exactly why he'll kill you!" Gabriel heard his voice echo from the walls around them, louder than he'd ever spoken before. "Don't be stupid, Claire. You're exactly the kind of person they would want out of the way. You're emotional, impulsive, indestructible, and hellbent on vengeance. They know they can't recruit you; the next best thing is killing you."
Claire paused, her chest rising and falling quickly.
"You sound like you know a lot about them," she said finally, and Gabriel frowned.
"What is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, suddenly wondering if she knew, somehow, that they had been looking for him. She shook her head, finally looking away.
"Nothing." He waited, watching as she slowly began to calm down. He leaned back, giving her a bit of space as she finally backed down.
"You and I have a lot of phone calls to make," he said.
–
Peter's network of contacts was vast. What had begun as a group of specials who were tightly-knit had grown significantly in the past 20 years. Those that Gabriel knew and recognized had passed away or moved on, eager to get out of the spotlight as they increased in age. Hiro, for instance, was now a grandfather. Micah was married with children. Ando had passed away years before from cancer. Yet there were many new faces, many of them people who had been rescued from the hospital in Pennsylvania or their families. Others had come to Peter on their own, drawn to his campaign as it began years before.
All of them knew of Sylar.
Despite Peter's attempts to keep Gabriel's past quiet, stories began, and whereas most stories were exaggerated, these were generally not. The tales of a Boogeyman who ripped open heads and ate brains began as a way to scare children and keep them in line, though adults made sure that their children knew that these weren't just stories, that these things had actually happened, that the world was dangerous and that they needed protecting.
"You're going to have to lead them now," Gabriel said. Claire glanced up from her spot at the table next to him. She was bent over a tablet, scratching out names as she called them and received no answer or a refusal.
"What?" she asked. Gabriel paused, standing up and pouring himself another mug of coffee. It was nearly midnight, and they had been going through Peter's contacts since that morning. Many had refused to help, citing fear for their families due to the video that had gone out earlier that day. Others refused to associate with Gabriel in any form, despite Peter's reassurances; without Peter to control him, he was like a dog without a leash, or at least that's what they saw.
"They don't trust me," he said simply, turning back to her as he leaned against the counter. "Without Peter to keep me in line, that is. And no one is going to take a movement seriously if it's led by an ex-serial killer. It has to be you."
He looked at her steadily, unable to distinguish the emotions that crossed her face. She didn't speak for a long time, and when she did, her voice was steady, determined.
"I can do it." She paused, looking back up at him. "But we need more than soldiers. Even if we get enough of these people to help us," she said, gesturing widely at the scattered papers with names in front of them, "it won't do any good if we can't find where they're hiding."
Gabriel could feel his stomach sink slightly as she met his gaze, unwavering.
"We need Molly Parkman."
For a moment Gabriel could picture the little girl he had tormented decades before, whose parents he had scalped in front of her and then chased her, coveting her power. He still did covet it; they had never found anyone with the ability to find someone the way she could, but she had long since refused to be associated with Peter or Claire, so long as Gabriel was around. And he could hardly blame her.
"That's out of the question," he said simply. "She made her position clear a long time ago. Even if we could find her again, there's no way she would help us so long as I'm around."
Claire frowned, glancing up at him. "We have to try, Gabriel," she said. "There's no way to find this group until they want to be found. They know we don't have a way to come after them. If we can get Molly on board, we can get the jump on them. We can learn more about them."
Gabriel matched her frown, sinking slowly back down into the dining room chair.
"You can empathize with her," Claire began, and Gabriel shook his head.
"That's a two-way street, Claire. Remember?" He did. The way Claire had pushed him out of her mind, vehemently denying any connection they may have held until he was dead. He wasn't sure if he had it in him to die again.
"Well, we won't know anything until we talk to her," Claire protested. And there it was: the infuriating optimism that she shared with Peter. Their relation was clear now, if it wasn't before. They both saw the good in the world, even when everything was fighting to show the opposite. While it was encouraging at times, it was also incredibly exhausting.
"You'd have to find her first," Gabriel pointed out, hoping to end the conversation, but Claire just smiled.
"Turns out she and Peter exchanged a few emails a couple of years ago," she said. "Her information is here, along with everyone else's. I don't know what they talked about, or why, but if she hasn't moved, this is where she lives."
Gabriel glanced down at the address, somewhere in the middle of Colorado.
"Good thing you have Hiro's power," she said, and smiled, knowing that she had him right where she wanted him.
Damn Petrellis.
