The Calm Before by Mallinder
Summary: A collegiate discovers that he has special abilities and quickly learns that even evolution has a dark side.
Rating: PG-13, course language
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!
Notes: This is my first attempt at writing. Like, ever, so please be gentle. Any comments or constructive criticism would be welcome. Enjoy(I hope)!
Chapter 2 - Manure
Oliver Gordon & Stanford Grant, Torrington, Connecticut.
"Not bad, Mr. Gordon." Stanford said as he flipped through the pages of a recently marked essay. Classes had ended for the day and they were on their way back to their residence room. "Eighty-seven percent. Not bad at all." Stanford contemplated for a quick moment before smirking. "Did you sleep with him or something?"
Oliver snatched back his essay and lightly punched Stanford in the shoulder. "Don't be gross, you cow. I just worked really hard."
"It's more like you worked him really hard." Stanford mumbled with a grin.
Today was certainly a better day than yesterday. The sun was shining, the wind was warm and Oliver had gotten a pleasant surprise in the form of his essay. Stanford was less than pleased with his mark, a lowly sixty-two, but that wasn't enough to bring his perpetually happy friend down. "So what do you say we go and grab a beer later on? Pick up a chick or two?"
"What, are you going to rap them some poetry or something? Charm them over with your lyrical skills and your bling-bling?" Oliver shot back with a smirk and a glint in his eye.
Stanford immediately sobered, a reddish glow creeping up his cheeks. "That's not funny."
"I beg to differ!" Oliver replied jubilantly, "I find it quite hilarious!"
"Well at least I don't–"
"Oliver Gordon?"
Both men paused and turned around. Standing behind them was a thirty-something Indian man, a quizzical yet expectant look on his face. "Are you Oliver Gordon?"
Oliver nodded. "I am."
The Indian's face broke into a warm smile as he stepped closer, extending his hand. "My name is Dr. Mohinder Suresh. I am a geneticist. I was hoping I could have a few words with you."
"Uh, sure," Oliver replied, shaking the doctor's hand. "About what?"
"The results from your donation to the Human Genome Project showed some abnormalities I would like to discuss with you."
"You're a mutant!" Stanford chimed in, his face brightening.
"Oh, shut up," Oliver replied. "Listen, I'll meet you back at The Cave later. We can get drunk and blind chicks with our bling-bling some other time."
"Sure. See you later, mutant." Stanford said with good-nature, leaving Oliver and the doctor to talk about his abnormalities.
Oliver turned back to Dr. Suresh. "I'm sorry, but I don't remember ever donated any DNA to the Human Genome Project."
"You wouldn't. You were only four at the time. Your mother actually provided the project with a sample of your DNA along with a sample of her own."
"Oh. Okay. What kind of abnormalities are we talking about here? Do I have Turner syndrome and didn't know it or something?
"Turner syndrome is a genetic disorder that only affects females." Dr. Suresh replied. He shook the thought away. "But that's beside the point. Perhaps we should sit down. I'll buy you a cup of coffee."
Oliver shrugged. "Sure. There's a nice diner just off campus."
"Excellent. By they way, how are you feeling today?" Dr. Suresh asked with a strange level of sincerity.
"I'm fine." Oliver replied, a little taken aback by the question.
"Good. Good. Yes, that's very good indeed."
He couldn't find him. He knew he was here, he just couldn't find him. He hated places like this. There were too many people, too many buildings and too many places to hide. It would have helped if he had a picture of the boy, but all he had was a name. It would have to do. It was all he really needed anyways. Besides, sometimes it was fun to drag these things out. Play a little hide and seek, a little cat and mouse. Of course, in the end the cat always won. And to the victor goes the spoils.
Oliver was beginning to feel a little nervous now. It's almost never a good sign when somebody suggests you sit down before they break the news to you. The doctor's refusal to speak about his abnormalities on the way to the diner didn't comfort him either. But now they were here and Oliver was waiting for an answer. The doctor had insisted on a patio table so they could enjoy the day.
"Okay, so what's this all about?" Oliver asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Like I was saying earlier, seventeen years ago your mother donated a sample of her DNA and a sample of yours to the Human Genome Project."
Oliver nodded.
"From the sample that was donated, I was able to isolate a specific genetic quirk in your DNA."
Oliver nodded again, trying to remain patient. 'Get to the point already' he thought. The suspense was killing him.
"I believe that this genetic quirk has enabled you to have certain...special abilities, let's say," the doctor said. Oliver noted that Dr. Suresh looked decidedly uncomfortable at this point, like he was expecting rejection. Unfortunately, Oliver had to burst the doctors bubble.
"What, like I should be some sort of Mensa genius? Trust me, I'm not."
"No, no. Nothing like that. I mean a different kind of ability, one that is unique to you and only you."
"I'm afraid I don't understand."
Dr. Suresh sighed before replying. "Oliver, I believe you have the ability to control the weather."
Oliver blinked. It was the only thing he could do. Maybe he didn't hear him right. "I beg your pardon?"
"There are people I know who can do extraordinary things, Oliver. I know of a woman who has strength that no human has ever possessed before. There is a man I know of who can walk through walls. I even know somebody who can paint the future. They all have the exact same genetic quirk that you do. That's what leads me to believe you have special abilities too. Specifically, it is my belief that you can control, or have some sort of influence on the weather."
Oliver stared at Dr. Suresh for a moment or two before rising slightly from his chair and peering around the patio. There were a couple of old professors chatting, a student with his face buried in a book, a thirty-something guy who looked rather distracted, and a female student who had fallen asleep on top of her textbook. Nobody he knew. Good. So this little meeting with the doctor wouldn't get around. He lowered himself back into his chair and stared at Dr. Suresh. When he saw the look of determination and sincerity on his face, Oliver could only laugh. "You're serious, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am, and if you would just let me explain, I can tell you why."
"I hate to break it to you, dude, but nobody can control the weather. Especially me."
"Just let me explain."
Oliver lifted his palms in resignation. He would hear him out. Stanford would get a kick out of it, anyways.
Dr. Suresh bent over and pulled a thick file from his briefcase and laid it open on the table. "For a few months now I have been correlating events in your life and weather phenomena in your general vicinity. Now, your medical records show–"
"Wait, how did you get my medical records?" Oliver interrupted.
Dr. Suresh smirked. "I have a friend in New York who can be very persuasive. Anyways, let me finish. It says here that when you were a teenager, you were having mental health problems, severe depression, things like that. Within that time frame, the state of Connecticut had a record amount of consecutive days with heavy precipitation."
"So? That must be coincidence." Oliver argued, although he didn't really know why he was bothering to argue. It wasn't true. He couldn't control the weather. It's impossible.
"Perhaps that occasion was, perhaps not," Dr. Suresh replied calmly. "Oliver, your emotions have been well documented by your therapist. Every time that you had a mental crisis of some sort, the weather went through a drastic change that couldn't be explained by meteorologists. Haven't you ever noticed that? Haven't you ever noticed that when you are feeling particularly unhappy the weather always seems take a turn for the worst?"
Oliver had noticed that, actually. He thought it was strange how that always seemed to happen. But that still didn't mean he controlled the weather. "So, what, you think that the weather reflects whatever I'm feeling?"
"That's exactly what I think," Dr. Suresh replied.
Oliver chewed on his lip for a moment or two, studying the doctor's face. He looked sincere. Slowly, he tilted his head back and stared up at the sky. "Dr. Suresh, I think you better get an umbrella."
Mohinder looked taken aback, but pleased. It was rare that he got a demonstration on his first visit. "Why would I need an umbrella, Oliver?" he asked, although he felt he already knew the answer.
"Because," Oliver replied, the corners of his lips curving up into a grin. "It's going to start raining manure."
That certainly wasn't the answer Mohinder was expecting. "Manure? Why on Earth would it rain manure?"
Oliver brought his head back down and fixed Dr. Suresh with a critical stare. "Because I feel like you're full of crap."
Dr. Suresh looked dejected, even insulted.
"No offense, doctor, but you can't possibly believe that my emotions control the weather."
Dr. Suresh steeled himself before he made his next argument. It was a harsh point to make, but he felt like he must make it. "On May 14th, 1992–"
"Don't" Oliver warned, his face instantly sobering.
"May 14th, 1992," Dr. Suresh continued, refusing to be talked down, "is the day that your mother was killed by a drunk driver."
"Stop it." Oliver warned again, fixing Dr. Suresh with an icy stare.
"The police report states that the family was informed of her death at 5 p.m. that day. One hour later, the strongest storm to ever be recorded in Connecticut hit. An F5 tornado, the strongest there could possibly be, touched down just outside of Glastonbury, your hometown."
"I said stop it," Oliver hissed through clenched teeth.
"Oliver, a tornado hasn't been recorded in that area of Connecticut for thirty years prior to that event."
"Okay. That's it. I'm leaving." Oliver spat, picking up his bag and standing. "You'll be lucky if I don't call the cops on you for stealing my medical records." He turned to walk away and immediately froze. The bright, sunny day that he had woken up to and enjoyed all day was gone. The sky looked threatening now, dark and overcast.
"That's funny," Dr. Suresh said from behind him. "The newspaper said it should be sunny skies all week. That's twice they've been wrong now. I wonder why."
"Stay away from me," Oliver muttered before storming off.
Mohinder sighed as he watched Mr. Gordon walk away. He thought it was going well. Maybe he pushed too far for the first visit. He gathered his things from the table and packed them away before pushing his chair back and standing. He walked a few steps to the nearby table with the distracted looking man. "Well? What do you think?"
"I think he's seriously considering it," the man replied. "He just needs a little convincing. This isn't happening to him, like it happened to me. It's happening around him. He's confused and more than a little scared about it. He also thinks you're an asshole. Be a little gentler next time."
Mohinder briefly nodded at the advice. "Thanks for helping me out, Matt."
Matt Parkman shrugged and smirked. "It's not a problem. Anyways, I think I know how to get through to him."
Oliver stomped all the way back to his residence, his mind of flurry of thoughts. How could this possibly be happening? It wasn't. It was impossible. Nobody could control the weather. But all of these events couldn't merely be coincidence. He saw the newspaper. It was supposed to be a warm, sunny, cloudless week. That's twice now he has been upset this week and twice that the weather has taken a sudden turn for the worse.
He pushed the door to his residence open and headed for the stairs. He didn't want to take the elevators. Physical movement helped him sort out his thoughts. As he started to climb, he thought of the tornado. The night his mother had died. He had been devastated. Utterly devastated. Unfortunately, so had the state of Connecticut, by an F5 tornado. He reached the third floor and walked through the hallways until he made it to The Cave, room C68. Fortunately, this time Stanford wasn't in his gangster garb. He did, however, spin away from his laptop when he heard Oliver open the door.
"Mutant boy! How'd it go?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Oliver grumbled before flopping down on his bed.
"Woah, woah. Are you okay? What did he say? Do you have Turner syndrome or something?"
"Turner syndrome is a genetic disorder that only affects females, believe it or not" Oliver replied.
"Then what? You're not sick, are you?"
"Depends on what your definition of sick is."
Stanford wheeled his chair next to Oliver's bed and looked down at his friend with concern. "What's going on, man?"
Oliver remained silent, staring up at the ceiling, taking deep, calming breaths.
Sensing that he wasn't going to get an answer from his friend, Stanford wheeled back to his side of the small room and rummaged through his night table for a moment. "Would this cheer you up?" he asked, lifting his visor and chain from the drawer.
Oliver huffed out a laugh and grinned. "Yes, it certainly would. But I think I'd rather just go for a walk."
"Want some company?"
Oliver swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. "No, that's fine. I just need to sort out my thoughts. Alone. I'll tell you everything when I get back, but you probably won't believe me."
With that, Oliver left The Cave, thankful to Stanford for not pushing for an answer. He descended the stairs of the residence again and stepped outside. It was still overcast. He began to walk away from the building when he heard his name being called. He paused and looked around but nobody was there. He shook his head, casting it away. He was just hearing things. He walked a good distance away from the residence when he heard his name being called again.
"Oliver!"
He stopped again and looked around, but nobody he could see was talking to him.
"Behind the bus stop, Oliver."
Oliver spun around and faced the bus stop that was nearest to him. Standing behind it was the good doctor. Oliver rolled his eyes. He really didn't want to speak with him again, but he supposed he had to. When he was within talking distance, he spoke with confidence. "Listen, I've heard what you have to say. Now I want you to leave me alone."
"I want to apologize to you," Dr. Suresh said. "I'm sorry that I brought your mother into the conversation. I didn't mean to bring back any painful memories. I was just trying to prove a point and I overstepped my bounds."
"Fine," Oliver said shortly. "I still think you're full of it."
"Well, you shouldn't"
Oliver looked around again, growing increasingly wearisome of this headless voice he was hearing.
"Hearing things, Oliver?" Dr. Suresh asked, an infuriatingly smug look on his face.
"What the hell are you doing to me?" Oliver demanded, stepping closer to the doctor and locking eyes with him in a fierce glare.
"I'm not doing anything," Dr. Suresh calmly replied
"I am."
Oliver spun around again, only this time somebody was there. It was that man from the diner, the one who looked distracted by his thoughts. "You? You're doing this?"
The man nodded. "Yes. My name is Matt Parkman. I'm a detective with the NYPD." He stopped talking, but somehow Oliver could still hear him. "And I'm special, just like you."
Oliver stared at the man with disbelief. This was impossible.
"It's not impossible, Oliver."
"Okay, stop that," Oliver said, genuinely freaked out. "How are you doing that?"
"I told you, I'm special," Matt replied, adhering to Oliver's wishes.
"Matt has the same genetic marker as you do. Only his abilities have manifested in a different way than yours," Dr. Suresh supplied.
Oliver's mouth hung slightly open as he looked from Matt to Mohinder and back again. Maybe it wasn't so crazy after all. "So what exactly is it that you do, Matt?"
"So you believe us, then?" Matt asked, a grin spread across his face.
"I don't know what I believe right now. Just answer the question. Maybe I'll have it figured out by the time you're done."
"Fair enough," Matt said before launching into his story. "I can read minds. It started out as just a jumbled mess of noise. There wasn't anything distinct about it, just white noise. After a while, I could hear specific thoughts from people, but I couldn't control who I heard those thoughts from. I could be walking down the street and then it would pop into my head that somebody forgot to do their laundry. As time passed I got better and better at extracting thoughts from the people I wanted to extract them from. Here, I'll give you an example." Matt turned his head slightly away so that his ear faced Oliver.
"What's he doing?" Oliver thought.
"Like I said, I'm reading your mind."
"No way!"
"Yes way."
"Okay, then what am I thinking now? 'Stanford Grant is the most retarded person I know'"
"Who's Stanford?" Matt asked, a playful smirk on his lips.
"Damn! You really can read minds, can't you?" Oliver asked with excitement. He was finally beginning to believe what he had previously thought impossible.
"I can do more than that, actually. That's the next part of my story. For the longest time I thought that reading minds was all I could do. I was wrong. Apparently I can project my thoughts as well. If I wanted to, I could have an entire conversation with somebody without ever opening my mouth."
"So where does that leave me, then? Do you give me a pill or something so I can actually control the weather, instead of just influencing it with my emotions...or whatever?"
"I'm afraid not," Dr. Suresh replied.
"If it's an injection or something I wouldn't mind."
"I'm afraid we can't actually tell you how to develop," Dr. Suresh said with a touch of sadness. "We still don't fully understand exactly how you are influencing the weather. All I have right now are hypotheses."
"Then why did you come here?" Oliver asked, a little put out.
"To let you know what you're capable of," Dr. Suresh replied.
"And to let you know that you're not the only one out there," Matt added.
Dr. Suresh nodded at this insight, then said with the gravest of tones, "Most importantly, Oliver, we came here to warn you."