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 4 - Stop
Oliver Gordon, Torrington, Connecticut.
"I'll tell ya, Mary, I've never seen anything like this in my twenty years as a meteorologist. Our Doppler radar shows that this incredible fog is centered only over Torrington."
"Do you have any explanation for us, Bob?"
"None. My entire meteorological staff are completely baffled."
The diner had a television situated over a small bar. It had been set to the weather channel for the entire twelve hours that he had been here. The staff had gone through two shift changes since he had arrived and there was still no sign of Dr. Suresh. Every report was the same. No meteorologist or amateur weather tracker could offer any explanation for the thick fog that had set over Torrington. The funny thing was, Oliver couldn't see any fog. To him, it was a clear day out, speckled with only a few pedestrians who were wandering around with their arms outstretched.
He had come here last night, after his encounter with Sylar. He didn't know where else to go. It was the only place he knew of that was open twenty four hours a day and had free refills on coffee. He lost count how many cups he has had so far. Fifteen, maybe sixteen. They had to start charging after number ten. To deflect any suspicion the staff might have, he had unloaded his backpack and pretended to be a student cramming for his last exam. He hadn't looked down at his textbooks once since he got them out. The past twelve hours he had spent either staring at the television, staring through the window on the lookout for Sylar or staring at absolutely nothing, lost in his own thoughts. It was an understandably slow night for the diner, and the morning didn't promise to be any busier. Aside from himself, there was only one other customer in the restaurant - a student, like himself, but this one was actually studying.
The little bell that hung over the front door of the diner jingled cheerily as somebody walked in. Every time he heard that jingle Oliver cowered lower in his seat. If Sylar happened to walk in he knew there would be no escape. But it wasn't Sylar. Not this time at least. The man who entered was wearing a chef's uniform. He hurried over to one of the bored looking waitresses, his face eager.
"Did you hear about it? It's crazy! I can't believe it actually happened!"
The waitress lifted and eyebrow and looked beyond the chef's shoulder to the window. "We have eyes, you know. It's really foggy. So what?"
The chef shook his head vigorously and stepped around the waitress to get behind the bar. He fiddled around in a few drawers for a moment or two before popping back up. "Where's the remote?"
"It's already on the weather channel. What's your deal?"
The chef waved off the comment and grabbed a chair from one of the tables, pulling it under the hanging television. Oliver was too exhausted to give the chef anything more than mild interest. The chef flipped through the channels frantically and stopped when he reached a major news channel. The chef's head was blocking the screen, so Oliver had to settle for only listening.
"It's just shocking what has happened in Torrington," a female newscaster was saying. "Students, citizens and city officials are all in a state of disbelief."
"What more can you tell us about this event, Deborah?" a male newscaster replied.
There was a brief pause in the dialogue, replaced by the faint sound of papers shuffling. Then the voice returned. "Well, it may be hard to believe, but it has been reported that the top of the victim's head was removed and that the brain was located several feet away. It's just a terrible tragedy, Clive."
A fierce chill ran through Oliver's blood as he listened. So Sylar had killed. Was there somebody else in Torrington like him? Dr. Suresh hadn't said anything.
"Thank you, Deborah. We'll be right back"
"Crazy, huh?" the chef said as he stepped down from his chair, giving Oliver the first clear view of the television.
His vision tunneled as he stared at the monitor, his chest beginning to heave quicker and quicker, his hands beginning to shake around his coffee mug. On the screen, to Oliver's utter horror and infinite despair, was a picture of Stanford. Written underneath, a headline; 'Campus Killer; City Mourns.'
Oliver stared at the screen in disbelief, although deep in his soul he somehow knew it must be true. His chest heaved in quick, rapid breaths as he clenched his jaw tight to prevent himself from screaming. Oliver tore his gaze away from the television, hot tears welling in his eyes. Was this his fault? Was Stanford dead because of him? His face grew hot as he thought about the possibility. Sylar was looking for him, but he had fooled Sylar. Was this some kind of sick revenge for being duped? Stanford was the only person Oliver knew that genuinely cared for him. Did Sylar know that? Did he know and deliberately take it away?
"Holy... would you look at that.." the chef said, taking a tentative step towards the large pane windows that encompassed the diner.
Oliver's train of thought was interrupted as the window he was sitting beside began to rattle in place. He cast a glance outside, using the back of his hand to wipe away the tears that were threatening to fall. The sky outside had turned a sickly shade of black. The clouds were ominously low hanging with a definitive rotation beginning to form. He could only assume that since the chef had commented on the sky, the fog had either lifted or been blown away by the sudden bout of strong winds.
"Oh no," Oliver muttered as he watched the soft swirling of clouds above, "no, no, no." He knew what was happening. He knew why it was happening. It was just like last time. A wash of vivid, terrifying and gruesome memories tore through his mind as he recalled the aftermath of May 14th, 1992. The destruction, the helplessness, the bodies. He had to stop this. But how? He didn't know how to control the weather! He hadn't even tried yet! He attempted to remember what Dr. Suresh had said as a garbage can tumbled along the street, carried by a fierce, howling wind. Emotions! Dr. Suresh had thought it was his emotions that influenced the weather.
Oliver slid from his seat, his heart knocking harshly in his chest, and stepped into the men's washroom. He placed a hand on either side of the sink and looked at his reflection. His hair was tousled, he was sporting stubble and there were deep, red bags under his eyes. But he couldn't focus on that. He had to focus on staying calm and getting control of his emotions. He stared back at himself in the mirror and took deep, calming breaths.
"Calm down. Take a few deep breaths. Just take it easy," he repeated in his head, biting down on his lip as he stared into his own eyes. Images of Stanford flashed through his mind but he forced himself to cast them away. Right now he needed to stay completely and totally calm or else a lot of people were about to die. Through the bathroom door he could hear the previously cheerful jingling of the bell growing angry and agitated as the front door opened and slammed shut repeatedly. The wind was ferociously beating against the windows. Oliver closed his eyes, took one more deep breath and let it out slowly. When he opened his eyes he issued a single command in his mind;
"Stop."
The change was almost immediate. The rapid jingling of the front bell had fallen silent and the howling wind had ceased. Outside the bathroom he could hear voices.
"What in the world was that?" the familiar chef's voice asked.
"Is everybody okay?" he heard the waitress ask.
"Hey, look. The fog's back."
Oliver studied himself in the mirror, taking deep, heavy breaths. His hands were shaking violently on the sink and it felt like his knees would fail him at any moment. He had done it. He had actually done it. Somehow, someway he had controlled the weather. He told it to stop and it stopped. He shook his head quickly. He could celebrate later. Right now he needed to focus on feeling absolutely nothing. He needed to be void of emotion. No cheer, no anger and certainly no despair. He wouldn't let the memory of his best friend be the catalyst in destroying this town.
Oliver stepped out of the washroom and resumed his seat. Everybody else was gathered at the front door, gawking at the fog that had rolled in again. He buried his face in his hands and tried to focus on the most unemotional things he could think of. Pens. Pens were unemotional. There were just there, waiting to be used. They came in several colours. Black. Red. Blue. Stanford always used a blue pen, black was too morose. Oliver shook his head and focused on something else. Wood. Wood was definitely unemotional. It could be used to make many things.
"Oliver!"
Chairs were made of wood. Pencils were made of wood.
"Oliver!"
Picture frames, benches, cabinets. They were all made of wood.
"Oliver, can you hear me?"
Oliver lifted his head from his hands. Did he hear that?
"Oliver, if you're there think something! Loudly!"
He definitely heard that one. A wash of relief flowed through him. It must be Matt. But how does one think loudly?
"I'M HERE!!" Oliver issued mentally.
"Woah, not that loud!" came the reply.
"Sorry.
I've never really done this before." Oliver's face twisted with concentration.
"That's okay. Hold on a second." There was a brief silence in his mind before Matt's voice came back. "Mohinder wants to know if you're making this fog."
Oliver nodded. Then, realizing that Matt probably couldn't hear a nod, thought. "I don't know. I think so. I can't really control it."
There was a lull in the conversation. Oliver assumed it was because Matt and Mohinder were talking. "Mohinder wants to know if you created the storm, too." Matt said, sounding somewhat exasperated.
"I think so. Probably. I'm sorry."
"Mohinder, that's not important right now!" came the sharp reply, leaving Oliver understandably confused.
"What?"
"Sorry, that wasn't meant for you. Listen, where are you? Mohinder said you left a message on his phone. Are you still at that diner?"
"Yeah, I'm still here."
There was another lull. He could imagine the two men squabbling over what to do next.
"Can you lift this fog? We're having a hard time finding the place."
"I don't know how."
"Are you okay?"
Oliver looked up. The waitress had glided over to his table, a curious look on her face.
"Huh?"
"Are you okay?"
"Uh... yeah. Why?"
"Oliver?"
"Hold on"
"What?"
"Hold on," he mentally repeated to Matt. "Sorry, what were you saying?" he asked to the waitress.
"I was asking if you're okay. You looked like you were in pain."
"Oh. No, I'm fine."
"Would you like another cup of coffee or something?"
"Sure."
"What?"
"Damn it, sorry. Hold on." He smiled at the waitress and nodded. "Sure."
By now the waitress was wearing an extremely skeptical look on her face. He couldn't really blame her. "O-okay. I'll go brew a fresh pot," she said with a nod and stepped away.
"Okay, I'm back," Oliver thought to Matt.
"What was that all about?"
"The waitress was bugging me. Do you know where you are? It would be easier for me to find you right now. Trust me."
"Are you sure that's safe?"
"Not really, but it's a lot quicker than you wandering around in the fog trying to find me."
"Okay. We're in front of some building with a clock tower on it. On campus."
Oliver knew the place. He actually had lectures in that building. "Okay, sit tight. I'll be there as soon as I can."
"Stay safe," Matt replied before going silent.
Oliver reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet. His total was only nine dollars worth of coffee, but he left behind a twenty dollar bill as way of apology for the trouble he caused. He gathered his things and slid out of his seat, casting only a brief glance at the television before leaving the diner completely. Stanford's picture was still being displayed.
Outside it was as if Torrington was completely deserted. There wasn't a single person wandering the streets anymore, which came as no surprise to Oliver. An unexplainable fog, a sudden, fearful storm and a head slicing murderer should be enough to keep most people indoors.
It wasn't too far from the diner to their meeting place, but every step he took was a cautious one. Sylar could be anywhere, just waiting for Oliver to show up.
"Are you still there?" Matt asked.
"Yeah."
"Okay, just checking."
With no crowds to fight and no traffic to dodge, and thankfully no Sylar to avoid, Oliver made it to the clock tower rather quickly. As he approached he could see Matt and Mohinder squabbling about something. He raised his arm over his head and waved before realizing that they probably couldn't see him through the fog like he saw them. He had to get within a few feet of them before they realized that he was there. Matt was the first to speak.
"Good, you're here. Let's go."
"Matt, be reasonable!" Mohinder pleaded.
"No, we're leaving. Now," Matt said firmly.
"What's going on?" Oliver asked
"Matt wants to leave and I honestly don't know why. There's a ton of stuff here that I need to document. Stuff that will probably benefit you in the long run," Mohinder answered before turning back to Matt. "That's why we came here, Matt! So we could help him understand his power."
"I kind of agree with Matt. I really think we need to leave," Oliver chimed in.
"Oliver, I know this power might be frightening for you, but if you would just give me a chance–"
"It's Sylar," Matt interrupted.
"What?"
"It's all over the news," Oliver supplied, somewhat morosely.
"We didn't get the news this morning. Matt and I got your phone call and left immediately."
"I don't need the news, Mohinder," Matt said tersely. "I picked it up when we got here. Everybody is thinking about the murder." Matt turned to Oliver then, obvious pity written across his features. "I'm sorry about your friend."
Oliver only nodded. He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about it right now.
"Murder?" Mohinder repeated. His gaze flicked from Matt to Oliver, then back again. "Why didn't you tell me this?"
"You didn't need to know at the time. But now that you do you know why we need to leave."
"If you could just give me an hour..."
"An hour might be too much time!" Matt hissed.
"Matt, the chances that Sylar would just randomly bump into us in this fog are slim to none. Oliver has an extraordinary power and I need to figure out how it works."
"You won't be able to figure anything out if he's dead," Matt countered.
Mohinder sighed and conceded. "Fine, we'll leave. But we're wasting an excellent opportunity to study his abilities."
"Prick," Matt thought aloud. Mohinder's face didn't register insult so Oliver assumed he didn't hear the comment.
With Oliver's guidance, the trio made their way back to a campus parking lot where Mohinder had left his car. Despite their arguments against it, Oliver convinced them to let him drive. He knew the roads and he could see through the fog, meaning they would get out of Torrington a lot faster. Oliver agreed that he would pull over as soon as the fog lifted, if it lifted at all.
As it turned out, the fog simply evaporated almost as soon as they were outside the city limits. Oliver pulled over as promised and Mohinder took the wheel. After they were back on the road, Mohinder looked at Oliver in the rear view mirror.
"Oliver, how did you create that fog?"
Oliver just shrugged.
"What about the storm? Can you tell me about that?"
"Let him rest, Mohinder," Matt said, but not unkindly.
Mohinder fell silent. After a few minutes of quiet travel Oliver's eyelids began to feel heavy. He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes. He was asleep within moments, but it was far from restful. Images of Sylar flashed through his mind. How he looked as he stood at the end of the darkened hallway. The way he shook with anticipation. That penetrating glare. In the unconscious part of his mind, Oliver was registering the conversation Matt and Mohinder were having in the front seats.
"Matt, it's just not possible."
"So what, we just dump him in New York and say 'Have a nice day'?"
"Of course not, but he can't live with us. For one thing, there just isn't enough room."
"I'll sleep on the floor if I have to."
"Why are you so insistent about this?"
"The kid just survived an attempted murder and lost his best friend," Matt replied with a sigh. "I'm not saying that it will be permanent. Just until he can get his bearings."
Oliver's mind tuned out at that point. His dreams weren't so haunted after that. Stanford was there, but he was alive. And he was happy. Happier than Oliver had ever seen him, with a beer in one hand and a visor in the other.
He wasn't sure how long he was asleep for, but after a while he could hear Matt's voice in his head. It was soft, almost a whisper, as if he didn't want to wake him up.
"Welcome to New York."