Last Chapter:
Two weeks later. The diner doors whooshed open, unleashing the lunch crowd. Plates clattered. Glasses clinked. Pads were torn open, chewed by pens. All eyes fell on menus, looking for something good to eat. Families laughed, and friends talked. Perfection gleamed off sunny-side windows as two shadows remained in a booth by the back.
He had found her two weeks ago. She was naked, cold. He wanted to take her to a hospital, but she refused. He threw his raggedy coat over her and led her to a shelter instead. After that, he never left her side, waiting for the day, where she would speak. She had a story to tell, and he wanted to know all about it. Right now, he just ordered breakfast for them.
"I have to hit the head," he said as he dropped the newspaper on the table. "Can I expect you to be here when I come back?" She nodded. "One of these days, girlie, you will have to speak, at least to me." She merely blinked in response. "I'll be right back."
A moment later, she reached for the newspaper. She slowly flipped it open. There was a small article about a cop, who was shot by the serial killer, Sylar. He was in critical but stable condition. It was Matt Parkman. As for Sylar, he was believed to be dead. Good. The world had two less monsters to worry about.
A few more pages in, her fingers stumbled across an obituary. It was a large obituary about a powerful man. His face seemed to lean out of the print. That damn smile. Those sinister eyes. Another monster was dead, and nobody would miss him. Nobody would miss Linderman.
She pushed the newspaper away as the waiter came by with their drinks. He placed an orange juice before her and an apple juice, where her friend sat. He stood beside her for a moment, trying to see her face under her long, brown hair. "Anything else," and she shook her head in response. "Don't you talk?" Again, she shook her head. "I really don't know why we cater to the likes of you," and he stormed away.
"Miss anything?" Her friend was back. "Want to read the paper?" She shook her head. "So, after breakfast, what shall we do today? We could go back to the shelter." She made a sour face. "We could go to the park for awhile." She nodded. "Then, the park it is," and as he said that, the waiter dropped their eggs and bacon down before them. He then stormed away. "He's lucky that I have money for a tip today."
She started to cough. She had been coughing a lot lately. Her skin was too pale. She had night sweats. Sometimes, she didn't even sleep. She just sat beside his bed at the shelter, staring into nothing, and he tried. He tried talking her into seeing a clinic doctor or going to a hospital. She refused both and never said why. She never said anything.
"You need medical care." He leaned toward her as she poked at her food with her fork. "You need to see someone," but she ignored him. "You could be dying." She paused at that. "You need to talk to me." Now, she looked at him with an unnerving stare, and he fell back into his seat. "I can't figure you out," and he started to eat his food.
A loud bang thundered behind them. Two shotguns were raised up in the air. Two men with hooded masks stood by the door. They pulled the door shut. There was no way out now except through them.
"This is a robbery," one man screamed. "Take out all your phones, and throw it on the ground."
"Do it now," the other yelled. "Now!"
"Damn it," she muttered.
"Did I… Did you just speak?" She glared at him again.
"All wallets and jewelry are to be placed in our black bags. Do you understand," the first man asked.
"Nobody try to be a hero," the second demanded.
Just then, the cook erupted from the kitchen with two large, butcher knives. He moved fast toward them. He wasn't fast enough. A shotgun round hit him square in the chest. He fell back, dead.
"What did I just say," the second roared. "We will kill you. Each and every single one of you." He glanced over at the two in the back booth. "Even the bums. We'll kill them too," and she smiled at that.
"This isn't funny," her friend said.
"I'm not laughing," she replied.
"You do talk."
"Shut! Up!" The first man stood beside them now. "Are you two worth anything?" He grabbed her friend and hauled him to his feet. He reached into his pockets, pulling out wads of cash and dropped it into his bag. "I guess you are. What about her?"
"Don't touch her." Her friend was pushed back into his seat. "I said…" He was struck in the face with the butt of the shotgun.
"And I said to shut up." Now, he reached for her.
"I wouldn't do that," she said to him.
"What are you going to do? You look like shit. Pale. Weak. You can't do anything. I should just shoot you, and put you out of your misery. How about that?"
She grabbed his wrist. Her touch was cold. It surprised him, so did the shock that followed. He tried to break free. He looked at her in horror, and her eyes flashed white. Then, he was gone, twitching on the ground for a moment, dead the next.
"What the hell? What did you do to my brother," the other screamed as he charged toward her with his shotgun ready to fire.
She didn't respond. Instead, white light flew from her fingertips and struck him. He was sent flying back, right through the diner window. Glass shattered as people screamed. A moment later, they stared at her. They all stared at her including the waiter that had talked down to her before, and she slowly walked toward the diner doors.
"Wait. Wait." Her friend hurried to catch up to her.
"No." She turned toward him. "Thank you for everything, but you can't come with me."
"I'm your friend," he said.
"You are my friend, and that's why you have to stay here. Away from me," and she walked outside.
"You never told me your name," he said. "Who are you?"
She had been ready to die. She had shed all the life that Linderman had given her. She had shed almost all the life that she had taken. She knew that she didn't have much time left. She was okay with that, okay with spending her last days with this man, who showed her kindness and patience. She enjoyed their walks in the park and their talks at the shelter. It was enough, and then today had to happen. And it changed everything.
She was no longer ready to die. She had to live. With that taste of life, she wanted to live. She would have to be careful. She knew the monster that she could become, if she lost control again. Nobody would control her. Nobody would manipulate her. She had to be alone, but she would be alive. And wherever evil may go, she will follow. This is the life that she must live.