The Calm Before by Mallinder
Summary: Matt experiences the horrors of Claire's memories, Molly's situations becomes increasingly dire and a betrayal is uncovered.
Rating: This chapter is rated M for course language and violence
Disclaimer: Any characters you recognize from 'Heroes' are clearly from 'Heroes' and don't belong to me. Everything else is mine mine mine!
Notes: School has officially taken over my life. Essay's run through my veins and theories play before my eyes! I'm sorry this chapter took two freaking months to get out, but I am drowning in so much school work that I think my lungs have paper cuts. WHY AM I TELLING YOU THIS? I SHOULD BE STUDYING. --shuffles off--
Chapter 8 - Betrayal
Matt Parkman
The pain was unbearable. Every time Bracken dragged the scalpel across his skin he felt like vomiting. When he would try to distract himself from the pain by regressing into his mind, all that his mind's eye could see was skin splitting, muscles being torn through and blood pouring unyieldingly from wounds. He would try to think of his father, and those silly horn rimmed glasses he had picked out, but his father's face would twist and morph into a snarling Bracken, ready to pounce with his instruments.
"Today, Ms. Bennet," Bracken said, looming over his naked body, "we take it up a notch. The removal of your lips and toes bore me now. We have established many times over that the amputation of such small parts of the body leave no lasting damage. They grow back within minutes. But what if we were to remove something...larger? Say, an ear? Or perhaps an entire foot?"
Matt was bound so tightly to the surgical table that it was difficult to shake his head. "No..no please! Please, I'm begging you! Stop! Sto-op!" He knew it was a futile attempt, begging for mercy. Bracken had grown increasingly cold, increasingly violent from the first time they met. At first the experiments were nothing more than a paper cut, or perhaps a small burn – things that happened in every day life. Bracken had even taken considerations for him, giving him breaks if he asked politely enough. He had tried to provide anesthetic, but his body rejected the foreign substance, leaving him exposed to the pain. But those days had disappeared rather quickly. Now Bracken was cold and menacing. He didn't attempt to sedate him and he certainly didn't take his pleads for mercy seriously. If there was one thing he could be thankful for, it was for the fact that Bracken was often too eager to slice and dice to even consider taking it slow. Matt closed his eyes tightly, his body tingling with the anticipation of where the searing heat would bloom; where Bracken's scalpel would split is skin.
"I'm feeling adventurous today, Ms. Bennet. An ear just won't quell my thirst for excitement. I think we will see how long it takes your entire foot to grow back." Bracken chuckled briefly and leaned closer to Matt's ear. "I will make you a bet, Claire. If your foot grows back within the hour, I'll buy you a pizza with any toppings that you want."
Matt held his breath, his face scrunching tightly. To his horror, he heard the slight clinking of Bracken's scalpel being placed back onto his tray, replaced by the terrible whizzing sound of a surgical saw. Matt barely had time to react before his entire consciousness was filled with a pain that was so extreme, a small part of his mind shut down, refusing to endure the torture any longer.
Audrey Hanson, Helena, Montana.
Audrey wasn't a woman who cried. She was a woman who sat through her own mother's funeral stone faced, accepting the truth of the situation rather than repeating comforting denials. Her job as an FBI agent taught her how to be unemotional, how to observe facts without interference. How to deal with the corpses of children who had been abused and tossed aside without shedding a tear. No, Audrey was not a woman who cried. But God strike her down if she didn't want to collapse into anguished tears every time she heard Matt scream. She had arrived in Helena two days ago after getting a disturbing phone call from Matt's room mate, Oliver. Nathan had filled her in on the situation, how Matt had somehow trapped himself inside of Claire's disturbed memories, and she could only imagine the kind of torture he was experiencing.
It always started with Claire. Her face would scrunch and a moment later, so would Matt's. She would whimper and a moment later, so would Matt. Audrey knew that after the scrunch and the whimper came the scream. That terrible, blood curdling scream that made her soul want to weep. It was a pattern that she had grown used to over the past two days, having sat her vigil at his side. So when she saw Claire's face begin to scrunch, she knew what was coming. She slipped her hand into Matt's, squeezing it lightly, hoping her touch would somehow bring some comfort to him.
"Niki!" she screeched over her shoulder. "Niki, hurry! It's happening again!" That was another thing she had learned fairly quickly. Niki had an uncanny ability to calm Claire, thereby calming Matt. Audrey wasn't sure if it was motherly instinct or something more, and she didn't really care. As long as it got the job done. She could hear the thundering footsteps of Niki as she hurried across the upstairs floor to the stairs, but it was too late. Matt's hand tightened painfully over her own a moment before he started to scream in sync with Claire. But this time it was different. This time it was worse. Before, the screams had been more fearful, but now they were nothing but pain, an anguish so fierce that she knew a little hand holding would be of no comfort.
Niki crashed through the threshold, a towel wrapped around her otherwise naked frame, her hair wet and straggly behind her. She glided over to Claire's side and cupped the cheerleader's face in her hands, forcing eye contact. "Claire.." she said softly to the screaming face. "Claire, you are with friends, you hear? You aren't with that monster anymore. You're safe here," she cooed, stroking her hand over Claire's shortened hair. It only took a moment for two for the screams to cease, Claire's face, and by association, Matt's, fell from a heightened state of terror to absolutely nothing. His face went blank and emotionless, the eyes bearing no soul. Niki dropped her head and huffed out a sigh. "You would think it would get easier with time," she mumbled, mostly to herself.
Audrey slipped her hand out of Matt's and stretched her crushed fingers, taking a moment to gather her composure before speaking. "Nathan told me about Elise and what she can do. Why don't you just use her when they get upset?"
Niki stepped back from Claire and took a few steps towards the door. She usually stayed a few minutes after an episode, but she was also usually dressed. "We tried that, but it didn't really work. All Elise can do is make you feel good, not your memories." She pulled a face. "I'm not making a lot of sense, am I?"
"Nothing makes a lot of sense anymore. A year ago I didn't even believe these sorts of things existed. Now Matt is trapped inside the memories of a regenerative cheerleader who was tortured by a company that wants to evolve the planet. I consider myself to be a logical person, and even I can barely figure that out."
Niki offered Audrey a sad smile from the doorway. "Why don't you take a break, Audrey? You haven't left this room since you got here. You must be exhausted."
"I am," she admitted. "But I want to be here if he has another episode."
"I'll tell you what. Give me ten minutes to slap on some clothes and get a bite to eat, and I'll stay here and watch them while you get some sleep. You can use my bed, if you'd like."
"I would like that." Audrey smiled up at Niki with gratitude. She barely knew any of these people, but they were all being so kind to her. Matt had spoken to her before about the resistance, but she had passed off the entire scenario as one of Matt's many tales that, until recently, she thought were made up. Now she wasn't so sure. Nathan had given her a very short briefing on The Company, it's goals, and the resistance, but it wasn't enough to satisfy her growing curiosity of the entire subject. She had connections within the FBI and a sharp mind to boot. Who knows, maybe she would be an asset to the team one day. For now, though, her only concerns remained with Matt.
Molly Walker, London, Ontario.
"I want to go home!" Molly wailed as Cook approached. Cook was another one of the scientists at the facility, but he was much nicer than Bracken. Even the name made Molly shiver. She had managed to keep herself calm for the past few days, the knowledge that Matt and Oliver were coming to her rescue giving her strength. But something terrible had happened that shook her to her soul. In the interludes between Bracken's increasingly regular visits, Molly had taken to watching the hallway outside of her room. She would stand on her tip-toes and look through the window in her door, this rubbernecking serving as one of her only sources of entertainment. The man who she had seen before, the one who needed to be held up by two guards, was dragged by her room at an increasing pace – almost twice every hour. Every time the man passed, he shot Molly a look that was filled with a dreadful, knowing pity. But that man wouldn't be brought by her room anymore. No more than two hours ago the man took his last journey through the hallways, this time being dragged by his feet. He had been wrapped in a thick, clear plastic, his face frozen in a moment of terror.
"We can't let you go home yet, Molly." Cook replied with a certain note of sympathy. "We've talked about why you are so important to us. You are going to help this company change the world."
"I don't want to change the world! I want to go home! I like being special! Why do you want to take that away from me?"
"We're not taking anything away from you, Molly," Cook explained with patience, preparing his instruments for yet another blood test. "You aren't going to lose your ability, you are going to share it with the world. Or at least with the people who can do some good with it. Think about it, " he said, sticking the needles into her vein, "if the FBI had the ability to locate anybody with only their mind, they could save the lives of many missing people. They could put bad guys behind bars. If we can figure out a way to evolve people--"
"Mohinder said that evolving people isn't good," Molly cut in.
"Mohinder." Cook repeated the name with interest. "The geneticist. He's your guardian now, right? Why don't you tell me more about him?" When Molly remained silent, Cook pressed. "Is he nice to you? Does he talk to you about your ability? Does he know how you control it?"
"He's...he's nice," Molly said hesitantly, stalling for time. She knew she had made a mistake. She had remained adamantly tight lipped about her family, not wanting to jeopardize their safety, and she had to go and say something like that. "He's busy a lot...and, uhm.."
The door to her room swung open them, effectively ending their conversation. Bracken stood at the threshold, his face stern and rather cold. "What are you doing in here, Cook?"
Cook twisted his body to face the door. "I'm talking with Molly, what does it look like?"
Bracken's eyes narrowed considerably with annoyance. "Molly doesn't get to talk with anybody until she starts cooperating." Bracken's cold, grey eyes drifted to Molly as a malicious grin curved the corner of his lips. "Good news, Molly. We've finished with our last guest, Mr. Sullivan. Unfortunately, we didn't get the results that we were hoping for. But I am a determined man," he said, fingering a syringe filled with a yellow liquid as he approached, "and I feel that if we work hard enough with you, I will get the answers I'm looking for."
"That's enough." Cook said with authority, standing from Molly's side and pacing towards Bracken. He stepped close to the doctor and spoke in hushed tones. "She's just a kid. You don't need to scare her."
"She's not 'just a kid', Cook," Bracken hissed back. "She's an assignment. Our orders are to get the information we need, however we need to get it." He turned away from his colleague and faced Molly. "We're going to be seeing a lot more of each other, Molly. I look forward to our time together." With that, Bracken spun away, exiting the room swiftly. Cook lingered for a moment longer, daring to cast a sad glance at the small girl before he, too, left the room.
Once the sound of their footsteps echoing down the hall died out, Molly rushed over to the atlas they had provided for her and flipped through the pages until she reached Montana. She hated using her power while she was in this dreadful place, but thinking of her family helped to calm her when she was frightened, and Heaven knew she was petrified. She dumped the small carton of push pins onto her bed and spread them, looking for an orange one. Orange was always the colour she used when she thought of people she loved. She placed the atlas flat on her lap and held the push pin over the map. She closed her eyes and thought of her newest friend, Oliver. Her arm began to jerk across the page as visions of her friend began to flood into her mind. Oliver on a flight with Matt; Oliver arriving at a farmhouse; Oliver on a computer, typing furiously. The last image to whiz through her mind was of Oliver standing in a wildly overgrown corn field, patches of fog drifting in and out of existence around him. Molly opened her eyes and looked down at the page. The push pin had landed the same place as before – just outside of Helena, Montana.
She lifted her arm off of the atlas, closed her eyes, and this time thought of Mohinder. Her arm darted across the page again, quick scenes of Mohinder playing in her mind. Mohinder with a boy who could climb walls; Mohinder with a woman who could understand her farm animals; Mohinder on a flight and finally, Mohinder arriving at the familiar farmhouse. Molly's concentration broke as her face broke into a smile. Mohinder was coming to her rescue too!
She reset her arm over the atlas, a small smile still present on her lips, and concentrated on Matt. Her arm hovered over the page, unsure of what to do. Her mind was drawing a blank. She shook her head quickly and tried again. Her arm still refused to move, but an image began to form in her mind. She grasped at the image before it had the chance to disappear, clinging tightly so she at least catch a glimpse of the one person in this world who made her feel absolutely safe. It was fuzzy and disorienting, but she was able to make out a few distinct features. A barely furnished room, spacious but empty, whitewashed walls. Molly's eyes flew open, effectively casting the mental image away. However, the scene before her was much the same as the one that she had just seen – a barely furnished room, spacious but empty, with whitewashed walls.
Oliver Gordon & Mohinder Suresh, Helena, Montana.
Oliver could hear the crunching of footsteps behind him, but didn't bother turning around to see who it was. Whoever it was, they could wait. Oliver had nearly perfected his control over his fog and didn't want to be bothered. He could do much more than simply produce it now. He could actively control where it went, how thick it was and how encompassing he wanted it to be. He could send an entire city into pea soup, or he could isolate a small sphere of fog around a single person, effectively reducing their vision to zero. What was more, making the fog, in all of its various forms, was almost second nature to him now. Where before he had to concentrate on exactly what he wanted to happen, now an quick thought could do the trick. He had been working on a new trick when the sound of footsteps broke his concentration. By the hesitant, unsure sound of the steps, Oliver knew it was Mohinder. Like Audrey, he had arrived only a couple days ago.
"Don't you think you should call it a day?" the scientist asked, making it sound more like a suggestion than a question.
"No, I don't," came the simple reply. Oliver was far from finished with his work. This new trick of his could really come in handy.
"You've been at it for hours. Come inside and eat. I'm going to make chicken tikka masala."
"I'm not hungry," he replied in clipped tones.
Oliver could hear Mohinder huff out an exasperated sigh behind him. He didn't care. Food could wait. What was important right now was the development of his powers. The technique he was working on involved the density, and therefore colouration of his fog. If he could create a darker, denser, almost shadowy patch of fog within the lighter, brighter fog it might pass as a silhouette of a person. Being able to create that illusion could be a helpful distraction when they rescued Molly.
"Oliver, I know that controlling the weather, or whatever you want to call it, takes a lot out of you. When you first came to New York you were out cold for two days because you overused your ability."
"What's your point?" Oliver replied without interest. He was still focusing on his new technique and Mohinder's babblings were quite distracting.
"My point is," Mohinder said with impatience, "that you need rest."
"No," Oliver shot back, "I need to be prepared." A thought occurred to him then, the patch of fog he was manipulating dissipating as his concentration broke. He turned to Mohinder with an annoyed, almost accusative expression. "Speaking of which, when are we going to get her? Molly was taken almost a week ago now and I haven't seen anybody making any effort to help her. In fact, I'm the only person here who actually seems to be concerned about her at all."
"Come on Oliver, you know that isn't true."
"Isn't it? We haven't had a single meeting since she was taken on how to get her back. I've tried to talk to Nathan about it but he always finds some reason to blow me off. Elise is no better. Niki seems worried, but she isn't really doing anything about it. Claude...I don't even know why he's here. He's a selfish bastard. I've tried talking to Hana, but she doesn't tell me much. I've asked her where Molly is, how to get there, security details but all she tells me is that Molly hasn't been hurt. I mean, it's infuriating! Aren't there other people in this resistance that we can call on for help?"
Mohinder hesitated before replying. He was sure Oliver wasn't going to like his answer. "Well..no, not really."
"What to you mean?"
"I mean this is it. This is the resistance. Nathan, Elise, Niki, Hana, Claude..." Mohinder trailed off, his expression apologetic.
Oliver went slack jawed with indignation. "You've got to be kidding me! Five people? Five people?"
"Well, there is you, Matt and I.." Mohinder added lamely.
"This isn't a resistance!" Oliver bellowed, "This is a joke!"
Mohinder could tell how upset his friend was, not by the anger on his face or the incredulity in his voice, but by the dark, threatening clouds that had suddenly rolled in. This rarely happened anymore, Oliver's unchecked emotions causing a stir in the weather, so Mohinder knew he must be furious.
"You're telling me that you are trying to bring down a super secret, technologically advanced, ruthless company with five people? That we only have five people to help save Molly? God-fucking-damn it, Mohinder!" A rumble of thunder rolled overhead poignantly. Oliver threw his hands up in the air in annoyance and rolled his eyes, but didn't bother to cast the dark clouds away. Oliver took a few steps away from Mohinder, this new revelation making his head spin. "What the hell are we supposed to do about Molly?"
Mohinder remained silent for a few moments, allowing his young friend to adjust to the news. "We'll get her back."
"How?" Oliver asked emphatically.
"We got Claire back. We can do it again." The truth was that Bennet had really gotten Claire back, with only a little help from the rest of the resistance, but Mohinder wasn't about to tell Oliver that. Not yet, at least. "Why don't you come inside and have a bite to eat, take a nap or something. You look exhausted."
"I am exhausted, but there is no way in hell that I'm going to take a nap when there are only five of us here to help Molly. No, I need to stay out here and practice until everything about my ability is second nature to me."
Mohinder didn't bother to argue the point further. After living together for the better part of six months he knew how stubborn Oliver could be when it came to certain areas of life. "I'll leave a plate on the table anyways, but it's best when it's hot..." When he received no response from Oliver, Mohinder turned away, stalking through the fields back to the farmhouse.
Nathan Petrelli
Nathan pushed the chicken around his plate without interest, letting the quiet hum of conversation roll past his consciousness into oblivion. He cast a quick glance around at his comrades. There were two empty seats at the table now, one with a plate of quickly cooling food in front of it, one without a plate at all. Nobody bothered setting a place for Matt anymore. But it wasn't this sad fact that was bothering Nathan. It was the empty chair with the unattended plate of food that had him worried. The empty space had been set for Oliver, and for the second day in a row it was unoccupied. It wasn't that Oliver was neglecting his meals that was setting off red flags in Nathan's mind, it was what he was doing instead of eating. Oliver had been spending as much time as possible outside, fine-tuning his ability. Normally such attention to preparedness would encourage Nathan into thinking he had a strong ally, but something seemed off about Oliver's behaviour. To Nathan, it didn't seem like Oliver was preparing. It seemed like he was obsessing. He wasn't sure if Oliver was obsessed with enhancing his ability or simply obsessed with Molly's rescue, but it hardly mattered. Obsession led to irrationality and irrationality led to disloyalty. If there was one thing that Nathan couldn't afford, it was disloyalty.
After everybody's meal was complete, the group silently went their separate ways. Audrey went to sit with Matt; Niki and Micah went to play Scrabble; Elise went to bed early and Claude, as was his style, disappeared completely. It was Mohinder's night to wash the dishes so he stayed behind and silently went to work. Nathan joined the scientist by the sink, offering his hands to do the drying. They worked wordlessly for several minutes, the clinking of plates the only noise between them, before Mohinder broke the silence.
"What is it you want, Nathan?" Mohinder asked, a reproachful tone marring his speech.
"Hmm? Can't I help out with the dishes every once in a while?"
"Nathan Petrelli doesn't do dishes unless he wants something in return. So either ask me whatever it is you want to ask, or leave me to do the dishes alone."
"Easy with the contempt there, Doc. We're minus a pair of hands right now so I thought I would pitch in." This reply only garnered him an annoyed, critical stare from Mohinder. Denying the point further would only cause distrust in Mohinder, so Nathan decided to out with it. "Fine. I want you to tell your friend that he can either work cohesively with our group or he can go home," he said with characteristic bluntness. "He's taken far to much interest in the advancement of his power."
"He's just worried about Molly. We all are. He's just blowing off steam."
"He isn't just 'blowing off steam', Mohinder. We've both seen this kind of behaviour before. This kind of...obsession with power." When Mohinder showed no reaction to this statement Nathan went on. "This is how it all began with Sylar. He learned of his power, he became obsessed with it, then he did terrible things. If Oliver conti—". Nathan's speech was cut off by the sharp sound of a plate being set down less than gently. Mohinder spun towards Nathan, his face scrunched with indignation.
"I can't believe that you just compared the two. You don't know him. Oliver is a good kid. Sylar is a monster."
"Forgive me if you think this is rude, Doc," Nathan replied with a chill, "but you unknowingly led Sylar himself to several people who he subsequently murdered. I wouldn't call you judgment of character exactly reliable."
Mohinder fixed Nathan with a raw, fiery glare, his nostrils flaring for several silent moments before he replied. "No, I guess not." Then, before Nathan had time to reply to the insult, Mohinder stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the dishes only half done. Nathan looked after the doctor for several moments, his lips pursed in thought, before turning back to the dishes.
Oliver Gordon and Micah Sanders.
"Are you sure we should be doing this?" The little voice whispered in the darkness. Night had fallen on the small town and the rest of the household was asleep. Micah had been asleep, too, before he was woken by a soft voice and gentle shake. He had rolled over and looked at the clock, groaning at the dreadfully early time. "What do you want?" Micah had asked, pulling the covers over his face.
"I need your help with something, kiddo." The voice had said. Micah recognized it as Oliver's.
"Can't you get somebody else to do it?" He had complained. He could almost hear Oliver smile in the darkness.
"Nah, I need you for this."
And so he had found himself, still in his pajamas, being dragged out of bed and through the hallways of the old farmhouse, the cold floor chilling his bare feet. "Are you sure we should be doing this? We could get into a lot of trouble."
"If we get caught, I'll say it was all my idea," Oliver replied nonchalantly, "which it is, so don't worry. Nobody will be mad at you. I don't plan on getting caught, though, so we have to be quick."
Micah was led through the hallways, the pair darting past any open bedroom doors, until they entered the living room where the all important computer was set up. Oliver turned it on and explained the situation to Micah as it booted. "I need your help because you're the only one who can help me."
"What do you want me to do?"
"First of all, can you tell me if Hana's around? Or can you not look for her without her knowing?"
"I can do a localized search. If she isn't here then she won't know we were looking for her." After the computer had fully booted, he pressed his hand against the monitor and closed his eyes. For a moment he had almost slipped back into blissful slumber before a rush of information coursed through his mind. Numbers, files, algorithms, but no Hana. "She's not here."
"Good." Oliver replied with a crisp nod. "Here's the deal. Every night I log on and talk to Hana, hoping to get some information about Molly, and every night she is infuriatingly evasive about the whole subject. When I talk to Nathan, he's the same way. I want to know what these two are talking about behind my – our – backs. Can you find their conversations on here?"
"Sure I can, but I don't know if I should. Those are private conversations. What if he asked Hana to do a search on, like, hemorrhoids or something? I don't want to know about that!"
Oliver snorted out a laugh. "Okay, how about this? Just do a search of their conversations where Molly is involved. How does that sound?" When Micah still looked apprehensive, Oliver laid a hand on his shoulder and let out a soft sigh. "Look, kiddo. I really just need to know how Mols is doing. Nobody is telling me anything around here."
Micah resigned himself to it and placed his hand back into the screen. "Fine. But no hemorrhoids."
"No hemorrhoids." Oliver confirmed.
Micah closed his eyes and concentrated, sifting through pictures, files and programs, searching for the conversations between Nathan and Hana. He found plenty of conversations between Oliver and Hana (and he had to admit, she was rather vague on Molly's condition), but any trace of interactions between Nathan and Hana had been wiped off the computer. "They're not here," he reported, his brow beginning to furrow. "They've all been deleted."
"Shit. Oh, sorry," Oliver replied, pulling a face after he swore. Niki didn't like foul language around her son. "Can you...un-delete them?"
"Yeah, just give me a minute." Micah dove back into the virtual world, passing all filed and folders, heading straight for the Recycle Bin. It was empty now, but it hadn't been not too long ago. He began pulling strings of information out of the PC and piecing them together. The older conversations between Nathan and Hana were beginning to rot and were irretrievable, but the most recent ones were still salvageable. After a few minutes of intense concentration, an e-mail message popped onto the screen, the monitor's light shading the living room in pale blue. "There," Micah said, backing away. Un-deleting files was always a hassle.
"Wicked. Thanks, pal." Oliver moved closer to the screen, slid into the chair and immediately began to read:
///// --Wireless: Molly's doing fine, Nathan. As fine as some1 can B at The Company...--
--FlyingMan73837: That's good news.--
--Wireless: She won't B fine 4 long, tho--
--FlyingMan73837: What do you mean? I thought you said they were only observing her for the time being?--
--Wireless: They were, but that was b/c the other special was still alive--
--FlyingMan73837: You mean he's not anymore?--
--Wireless: No. They killed him. He's dead. And now they will go after Molly--
--FlyingMan73837: Go after her? I don't understand.--
--Wireless: That's the way it works The Company. They focus most of their enrgy on 1 special a time, but keep tabs on the other 1. Now that the other 1 is dead, they will move on to Molly.-- /////
"That's all I could get out of that one," Micah said apologetically from behind Oliver.
"That's fine," Oliver said, his voice darker, huskier. His breathing had gotten rather heavy, sounding like it was coming from without his own body. "Did you get anything else?"
Micah nodded, pressed his hand against the computer screen and brought up the second conversation. "There was one from yesterday that I couldn't manage to get a hold of, but I did get one that was from a couple of hours ago."
///// --FlyingMan73837: Hana, are you there?
--Wireless: Off course.--
--FlyingMan73837: How is Molly doing?--
--Wireless: She's a trooper. They want her 2 use her ability, but she doesn't want 2 shwo them.--
--FlyingMan73837: That's good news.--
--Wireless: Not rly. They're trying 2 force her 2 use it.--
--FlyingMan73837: They're not hurting her, are they?--
--Wireless: Not yet. Her file says:
'Assignment Molly Walker, clairvoyant, has proven to be highly uncooperative. Threats made against her family and friends have been met with moderate success. If Assignment Molly Walker continues to delay our research, further methods of persuasion will be carried out'.--
--FlyingMan73837: I don't like the sound of that.--
--Wireless: Nathan, we need 2 get her out.--
--FlyingMan73837: Not yet.--
--Wireless: Nathan...--
--FlyingMan73837: We need her in there, Hana.--
--Wireless: She's just a little girl, Nathan!--
--FlyingMan73837: She will also be a source of great information when we have her back. You have access to files and reports, which is fantastic, but it tells us nothing about the atmosphere of the place. It tells us nothing about how the people interact. Statistics and reports don't tell us which employee's are more likely to sympathize with our cause and which are likely to put up a fight. Numbers and reports are one thing, first hand experiences are another. You need to trust me Hana. She needs to stay in there for a few more days.--
--Wireless: And what will u tell the others? That u r working on it? That new guy has contacted me every nite asking Q's. He's getting suspicious.--
--FlyingMan73837: Let me handle him. I'm trying to discredit his character so the others won't be as eager to work with him.--
--Wireless: That's cruel--
--FlyingMan73837: It's necessary.--
--Wireless: And Molly? Is her staying w/ those monsters necessary 2?--
--FlyingMan73837: Yes. You said it yourself, she is a trooper. She can pull through. She needs to stay, for the greater good.--
--Wireless: When r u going 2 tell them that u left clues lying around so The Company would find out where she lived?--
--FlyingMan73837: Never, and neither are you. /////
"That's all I got..." Micah said tentatively. Even his young mind could see the implications of this new development, this betrayal of trust.
Oliver remained silent for a long while, his eyes scanning up and down the document. He read, re-read, and then read it again, just to make sure his mind in the darkness of early morning wasn't playing tricks with him. No, it was true. It was real. Nathan had betrayed him. He had betrayed the resistance. Worse, he had betrayed Molly. Oliver took deep, calming breathes, knowing the grave implications if he let his emotions get out of control. Still, a strong wind had picked up outside, rattling the windows and spinning the weather vane on the barn. "Son of a bitch," he spat, willing a large portion of his rage to flow out of his body, intertwined within the words.
"Don't let his mum catch you calling him that. She'd be right offended." Husky. British. Claude.
Both Oliver and Micah spun away from the computer, Micah having the good sense to place his palm on the monitor and shut the system down.
"Wot you up to, boys?" Claude asked with an affable, if not mischievous smile. "Not looking at the knickers of some pretty ladies, are you?"
"No!" Micah replied immediately, shifting his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably. "What's a knicker?"
"How long have you been standing there?" Oliver demanded. He hadn't heard footsteps enter the room, even though he had his ears peeled for movement about the house.
"Standing? Well not too long, I should think. I was lyin' down over by the window, taking a nap when I should 'ave been on the lookout. Or 'ave you forgotten that we do that 'round 'ere?" His voice was mocking, smarmy, as if it should have been obvious an invisible man was taking a nap by the window. Claude's face grew grave after a moment, the mockery melting away from his features. "But I was standin' 'ere long enough to see wot you two blokes pulled up on that screen."
"And?" Oliver asked, slowly rising from his seat. Claude was the one person in the house whose allegiance was completely unknown, which made Oliver acutely uncomfortable. What if he was tightly aligned with Nathan? Would Claude wake the resistance leader and turn in the two rebels? Or would he take care of them himself? Oliver took a small step forward, placing himself slightly in front of Micah.
Claude shot Oliver a look of amused incredulity, his mouth actually hanging open a little. "I'm not going to hurt ya, you knucklehead! In fact, I want to help you."
Oliver, still unsure of Claude's allegiances, wasn't quick to accept the offer. "Help us with what? Who says we need help?" he asked with as much slyness as he could muster.
"Gah! Don't be thick!" Claude replied, rolling his head up in annoyance. He strode forward, past Micah and Oliver, and turned the computer back on. "I saw the same message that you did. Petrelli is a smug bastard if you ask me. Always was. Never trusted him. Even so, I wouldn't 'ave believed he set the whole thing up if I didn't see the evidence myself." He smacked the side of the hard drive, frustrated with how slowly the machine was booting up. "Poor Molly doesn't deserve to be used like that. She's a right peach, that girl." The computer gave off a soft ding, indicating its readiness. "Now, where did those files go?" he said, clicking madly through the folders.
"Let Micah find them," Oliver suggested.
Micah, however, didn't move. "I, uh...I don't think they're there anymore." His voice was shaky, nervous.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean...when Claude showed up," he said, speaking rapidly, "I had to improperly shut the system down and I didn't have enough time to make a back-up copy, I'm sorry."
There was a moment of silence, interrupted only by a brief sigh from Oliver. Claude seemed more optimistic. "That's alright, we'll just wait for the next one. Shouldn't be more than a day or two."
"Didn't you read that Hana said? Molly doesn't have that kind of time. If she doesn't cooperate, and believe me when I say that she won't, they'll...do things to her. We need to help her as soon as we can."
"Wot, just walk up to everybody and tell them to get a move on? Won't work, pal. Nathan has them all wrapped around his little esquire finger. And if you 'aven't forgotten, Nathan doesn't want to help her yet."
"Well then, we discredit Nathan. Tell them what he did, why he isn't trying to help Molly."
"With what proof? Wonder boy here accidentally got rid of it." Claude said. Micah cast his gaze to the ground, shamed. "Ooo, sorry mate. Didn't mean for it to come out like that."
"We have to at least try. We'll be as bad as Nathan if we have this information and do nothing with it," Oliver continued, Micah's feeling taking a backseat to Molly's safety. "I'm going to tell them all tomorrow, at dinner, when everybody is there. I'm new here and I don't have a lot of credibility going for me, but hopefully they will listen to you. Will you help me or not?"
Claude considered for only a moment, mostly for dramatic effect. "I'm in."
Molly Walker, London, Ontario.
There was a knock on her cell door, followed quickly by the sound of keys in the lock. Bracken entered, a young, pretty woman trailing behind. Tall, blonde, pretty blue eyes.
"I have a visitor for you, Molly," Bracken said with a crooked smile. "She's a very nice young woman. I told her all about you and she insisted on meeting. Isn't that nice?" Molly remained silent, watchful, so Bracken continued. "Her name is--"
"I'm Elle!" The woman exclaimed, pacing forward a few steps. She sat down on the bed beside Molly, lowering her gaze so their eyes met. "You have a very pretty name, Molly. You know, I used to have a pet dog named Molly. She was a sweetheart." Bracken turned away from the girls at that point and disappeared into the hallway. The absence of his presence lifted a considerable weight from the room, allowing Molly to converse better with this new stranger.
"What happened to her?" Molly finally asked.
"Uhm..." Elle looked perplexed for a moment. "She had an accident. Yeah... it was sad."
"Oh," was all Molly could think to say. A silence filled the room as Molly thought about the best way to proceed. She knew that every time somebody entered the room it was because they wanted something. She figured this was no different. "Why are you here?"
Elle raised one eyebrow, a smirk twisting the corner of her mouth. "You get right to the point, don't you kid? I like that," she said as she stroked Molly's hair. "I'm here because those kind men out there told me that you weren't being very nice to them. All that they want you to do is find somebody. Anybody, really. It doesn't have to be somebody special or somebody you know. They just want to see how you do what you do!"
"I don't want to show them," Molly replied firmly.
"Not even for me?" Elle asked, her tones reflecting a sense of rejection.
"No. Not for anybody."
"Well... how about if I show you what I can do first? It's pretty neat!" Elle pushed off the bed and stood in front of Molly. "Watch this!" She pointed a finger at Molly's shoulder, winked, and send a sharp spark of electricity through the air and into Molly's body. Molly screeched and grabbed her shoulder, trying to to rub the pain away. She looked back at Elle with wide, scared eyes. "There's a lot more where that came from too, princess. Now why don't you show me that power of yours. We're sharing, right?" Molly shook her head defiantly, still rubbing her shoulder. Elle rolled her eyes, pointed, and shot Molly in the shin. Molly screeched again, blooms of tears welling in her eyes. "How about now?" Elle asked, menace oozing out of every word.
"No! Go away!" Molly screamed, bringing her knees toward her chest, rolling herself into a ball.
"Oh, sweetheart. You haven't seen nothing yet." Elle held both hands out in front of her, curling her fingers, palms facing each other. Sparks flew from finger to finger, an occasional charge spitting out into the air around her hand. A sound like a swarm of mosquitoes crashing into a high voltage bug zapper filled the room, stealing Molly's voice from her. Between Elle's hand, a ball of electricity began to form, white hot and swirling. It grew and grew until it was about the size of a grapefruit before Elle spoke. "Last chance, princess! Show me what you've got or I'll show you what I've got!"
Molly, to petrified to even breathe, let alone speak, simply stared, her bones rattling inside her, blood pumping loudly through her ears. Her lips twitched and quivered and her heart knocked against her ribcage.
"Hm. Pity. You're such a pretty girl too." Elle stepped forward and Molly squirmed away, pressing her back against the wall. "This is what you get for being a bad little girl!"
"Elle!" A voice, booming, furious and full of authority rang out from the threshold of the room. Cook was dashing into the room, his face twisted with anger. Elle spun away from Molly, hiding her hands behind her. To Molly's great relief, the ball of electricity sputtered out and died.
"El! What are you doing here?" She asked cheerily, shrugging her shoulders just enough to make her breasts jiggle.
"First of all, it's Dr. Cook to you. Second, if you insist on calling me by my first name, it is Elliot, not El. And before you ask, no we are not friends."
"Harsh words, Doc."
"What are you doing in here?" Cook demanded.
"Bracken let me in to have a chat with Molly-Doll here!"
"It didn't look like you were 'chatting' to me," he said, each word dripping with distaste.
"Oh, that? I was just...we were..."
"Out," Cook spat between clenched teeth, pointing aggressively at the door.
"Aw, Doc! We were just fooling around! Honest!"
"Get out, Elle!" he bellowed. Elle, knowing she was defeated, shrugged and strode out of the room, her ego still fairly in tact. Cook offered Molly a sympathetic glance before giving chase. He certainly wasn't through with her, and Bracken was due for a piece of his mind as well. He locked the room securely behind him and stomped down the hallway.
Hot tears streamed down Molly's face, the sudden silence of the room broken only by her choked sobs of anguish. She sat against the wall, clutching the blanket of the bed, burying her face in the fabric to hide the tears. She hated it here! She wanted to go home! She wanted to watch football with Matt! She wanted Oliver to help her with her homework! She wanted Mohinder to cook her things! She just wanted to be with her family again!
She threw the blanket away and crawled under her bed, shakily grabbing the atlas that lay there. She was trying her hardest not to use her ability while she was here, she really was, but she needed to see her family. Her chin quivered violently as she fished through the small bowl of push pins, looking for her favourite orange one. She gripped it tightly as she flipped through the pages, droplets of tears falling from her cheek and nose, blurring pieces of Montana. When she saw the now familiar city of Helena on the map she went into convulsions, sobs racking her chest. She closed her eyes tightly and thought of Matt, her rock, her source of strength in times of hardship. A fuzzy image of a small room formed in her mind, disappearing an instant later. She opened her eyes and used her sleeve to wipe away the tears staining her cheeks. "Work! Please work!" she begged, placing the push pin back onto the page. She pictured Matt again, this time throwing her whole being into the process, casting away her hellish reality to find her guardian angel. Though her heaving chest was somewhat distracting, she managed to zero in on an image.
The center of the image began to clear, starting as nothing more than a pinprick, but slowly expanding outwards until the entirety of the image became clear. A barely furnished room, spacious but empty, with whitewashed walls. The same image she received the first time she thought of Matt. She let out a whimper of disappointment and prepared to back out of the vision, but something was different this time. She felt a tug pulling her mind towards the door of her vision. Could it be that Matt was actually in the facility, here to rescue her? The thought drove her forward. She passed through the door effortlessly and glided down the hallways, following whatever direction the tug indicated.
Through the hallways she went, passing by facility members unnoticed, occasionally passing through them. As she rounded a final corner, the tug became a sudden jerk, urging her towards a pair of stainless steel doors, each with a small square of glass perched near the top. She glided forward, knowing that Matt must be on the other side of those doors. If she could just see him for a second she knew she would be able to find the strength to endure her captivity. As she got closer and closer to the door, something odd began to happen. As much as there was a force tugging her forward, so was there a force pushing her back. It wasn't strong enough to stop her, but it was worrisome enough to make her stop herself and consider. A voice. She could hear a voice on the other side of the door.
"Are you ready to start our session, Ms. Bennet?"
Ms. Bennet? She wasn't looking for a Ms. Bennet! And that voice wasn't Matt's! It was Bracken's! That last bit of information fell on her like a ton of bricks. Bracken, the person she was trying to get away from the most, had invaded her vision. Still, she pressed on. Her ability had never failed her yet, so Matt must be on the other side of the door. She glided forward into the room and sure enough Bracken was there, standing over a man on the table. Bracken was positioned near the man's head so she couldn't make out who he was. One thing was for sure, there was no 'Ms.' anywhere around.
"What do you say, Claire? Shall we stick with the foot?" Bracken mused, leaning over the man on the table and picking up a surgical instrument from a stainless steel tray. There was a brief whirring sound as Bracken made sure the instrument was operational before he stepped down the table towards the man's feet. That's when Molly's world came crashing down with the force of a tidal wave. Her ability was right, Matt was in the room. He was on the surgical table, staring at the ceiling with a vapid, resigned look in his eyes. The terrible whirring sound erupted at Matt's feet, followed by the nauseating noises of the blade ripping through skin, muscle and bone, spattering blood across the room. Although the droplets passed through her, Molly still felt like they were dripping down her face, coating her body from head to toe. Her face scrunched in horror as she watched, her breathe remaining in her long enough to exude a bloodcurdling, horrified scream that would break the hearts of even the most calloused of souls.
Matt Parkman, Helena, Montana.
"Your father used to call you Claire-Bear didn't he?" Bracken asked, squatting down beside the assignment whose mind he had broken. His inquiry was met with silence. "Still not talking, eh? No matter. It's not your brain I'm interested in anyways. It's your body. But you already know that, don't you?" He took a moment to dramatically look at his watch. "You also know that your next appointment is upon us. Come on, up you get!" Bracken placed a shoulder under Matt's arm and lifted him to his feet. "Enjoy our little walk while you can, Claire-Bear. You might not be able to for a long while after tonight."
Matt had ceased to care. He let Bracken lead him quietly through the hallway without a fuss. He knew what was coming. He knew it would come again tomorrow. He knew it would come the day after that. He knew it was inevitable, so instead of trying to fight it, he simply shut a part of his mind down, drifting away to a more pleasant time in his life. Like the time his father brought him home a stuffed bear from New York. Or the time Jackie made him co-captain of the cheerleading squad.
He could distantly hear Bracken sorting through surgical instruments, humming to himself. Matt transported himself back in time, remembering the night Zach had rescued him from his room on homecoming night, the time he had met his biological mother, Meredith Gordon, for the first time.
"Are you ready to start our session, Ms. Bennet?" Bracken asked from a world away.
The time he helped picked out his father's glasses. Matt thought he would hate them, but his father took a liking for them straight away. He remembered running into a burning train wreck and saving the life of a firefighter. That was a proud moment in his life.
"What do you say, Claire? Shall we stick with the foot?" Bracken asked, leaning over him and picking up a surgical instrument from a stainless steel tray. Bracken moved towards his feet, clearing Matt's line of view to the door. A little girl was standing inside the door. She was pretty. Why was she here? She looked scared. The whirring sound of the surgical saw erupted by his feet, followed by the nauseating noises of the blade ripping through skin, muscle and bone, spattering blood across the room. The girl looked horrified, sickened. Then she let out a bloodcurdling, horrified scream that would break the hearts of even the most calloused of souls.
In that moment, everything became clear to Matt. Who he was, who the little girl was, where he was and why he was there. A flood of images and memories coursed through his mind, reminding him of his identity and casting away the illusion of Claire's memories. He sat bolt upright in his bed, one hand extended in front of him. "Molly!" he bellowed. But Molly wasn't there anymore. He was back in his own room in Helena, Montana and Molly was 1,800 miles away somewhere in Canada.
"Matt?" A voice. Tentative, unbelieving, female. "Matt! You're awake!"
Arms were thrown around him, Audrey's arms, pulling him close to her body. It was an emotional reunion to say the least, but the only word that would issue from between his lips was that of his daughter. "Molly? Molly?"
"Molly isn't here, Matt. Don't you remember?"
"Molly...," he repeated, finally making eye contact. "She found me."
R & R please! Constructive criticism is always welcome and extremely helpful (especially to a first time writer!) Was it too long? Too boring? Too lame? Too cliché? Not informative enough? Too much useless information? Let me know!