Sylar set his drained cup down silently and swooped back into Mohinder's room. He was afraid to leave the man alone these days, honestly. He couldn't risk another suicide attempt. Mohinder lay resting in his comfortable bed and Sylar just watched from across the room, listening to the sounds of sleep.
After hearing Molly's name whispered from unconscious lips, Sylar sighed. He slid down the wall, landing softly on the tan carpet. Mohinder continued to writhe, as if some terrible thing was killing him from the inside, eating it's way out. An imaginary parasite, perhaps.
Sylar was a man of many names. The girl, Molly, had called him the Boogeyman. He also recalled being referred to as a monster, a parasite, and even an angel. He couldn't dismiss the obvious irony of the latter, but in the end he was simply Sylar.
After a few hours of lingering in the corner, he noticed Mohinder stir. Suresh shook his head violently, then bolted upright in a fit of tears. Sylar rushed to his side valiantly, drawing a glass of cold water from the kitchen with a gesture.
Mohinder grasped the cup in a shaking hand and brought it to his lips. He gulped thirstily, all the while wondering who was standing by him. His eyes were still blurry from rest and it took him a moment to realize where he was at all.
When he looked up at the man next to him, he let out a short gasp. "No," He whispered, "This was a dream. I remember very clearly. I can't be awake."
Sylar looked down at him kindly, an image of the Zane that Mohinder once knew. "No, Mohinder. This isn't a dream." He uttered, trying to sound as kind as possible.
"I don't believe you." A wavering voice responded.
Rubbing his temples, Sylar sat at the foot of the bed. "You have to believe me. I'm the only one you've got left." He murmured. Mohinder's eyes widened at the statement.
"And Molly?"
"She's dead… I killed her."
"Parkman?"
"Gone. He left shortly after Molly's death."
Sylar's voice was so cold and impersonal as he spoke those last words. Mohinder could barely suppress a shudder. His eyes filled with tears and he curled into himself, praying quietly in a foreign language. Sylar reached a hand out to comfort the man, but was instead punched squarely in the jaw.
Mohinder stepped out of bed, his knuckles raw from the impact. Sylar had fallen to the ground from such a strong blow. He brushed a finger gingerly over his cheek, a trickle of blood running down his lip. Seeing the doctor standing over him, he raised a steady hand and telekinetically stopped the man in his tracks.
The geneticist growled fiercely when he found he was unable to move. He noted the murderer sauntering toward him and clenched his hand into a tight fist. "Wow," Sylar smirked, "You've still got a lot of fight in you, huh?"
Mohinder seethed. "You killed my daughter! Was it not enough for you to tear apart my family once?"
In response, Sylar knelt down beside Mohinder. "I think you're confused," He said calmly, releasing his hold on the other man. "maybe I should explain."
"You don't get to explain," Mohinder hissed, anger sweeping over him. "murderers don't deserve to be humored."