Claire and Rosemary have just gotten everything settled. They've planned out meals they both like for the next week and have a shower scheduele charted. Now, they
sit across from each other in the small apartment kitchen at an even smaller table.
"Say, did you like The Hieress?" Rosemary asks, trying to make small talk about last night's movie.
"Yeah, I did. I never really watched an old black and white movie like that before." Claire replies.
"We'll we've picked a good one to start with. Monty Cliff is my favorite actor." Rosemary says. She and Claire smile, trading favorite moments from the film. "Alright. We've shot the breeze into a shriveling convulsing corpse. Let me explain somethings." Rosemary says, though she'd much rather discuss the movie more.
"Your Dad asked me to watch you for a while because he thought you'd be hidden and protected here. You see, I have this power that allows me to create a force field of sorts. Nothing can get through from the outside of it. I keep it up at all times, so no one can get through any door, window, or anything in this apartment. It's pretty much second nature keeping it up. It stays up even when I sleep. But, I haven't got complete control just yet. See when I get really excited, or upset, I have trouble keeping the force field up. So, if anyhting should go wrong, which I don't think it will, but, just stay calm, and stay close to me. Rosemary explains. Claire takes all the scattered information in.
"Okay. I've got it. Claire tells her. Rosemary isn't so bad, she supposed. A little weird sometimes, but at least she wasn't psychotic or grumpy. "One question: Am I allowed to go out?" Claire asks.
"Well why wouldn't you be?" Rosemary says and Claire smiles excitedly. "Of course, I'l' be coming with you everywhere, so don't get too excited." Rosemary says and smiles back. Claire understood this was all for her own good, and probably from her dad's commands, but she couldn't help but feel like they were controlling her too much, that she was suffocating...again. The pit of her stomach began to churn. When would this end? Would she ever know freedom again? Claire quickly pushed the thought out of her mind. She needed a distraction. She looked around the apartment, though it looked more like a prison cell now. The only thing that stuck out was the pictures, hung randomly on the walls. They were all very beautiful. One stood out in particular: a pastel drawing of Monty Cliff, who was in the movie. "What a great movie it was," Claire thought, and her misery vanished.
Peter is getting ready to leave his apartment for the park. He downs a mug full of hot chocolate, puts on his coat, and opens the door to the hall. On his doorstep his mail is waiting for him. Normally, he would throw it all on the pile of mail he never looks through anymore, but the newspaper is there today. He thumbs through it until he finds the obituaries section. Nathan's isn't there. There is, however, one each for DL Hawkins and Matt Parkman who both went down that day at Kirby Plaza. He skims the short articles. Turns out DL was a firfighter. Matt Parkman's said something very surprising: "Mr. Parkman is survived by his ex-wife Janice and hus son, Matthew Jr., whom the late Mr. Parkman had no knowledge of..." Peter was surprised at this, but decided it was an incosequential matter, and threw the paper onto the small pile.
He leaves the building and takes a cab to the park. Once there, Victor is waiting for him on a nearby bench. Peter walks up to him, and Victor stands up.
"Peter Petrelli? I am Victor Angoissant." Victor introduces himself shaking Peter's hand.
"I know. Now tell me how this is going to work." Peter demands softly.
"Well, it's very simple. It's just like the sham séances that were held frequently at the turn of the century. We take each other's hands and I will channel the spirits. You're going to have to lure your brother out, though." Victor explains.
"How will we do that?"
"Did you have anything of his that was especially precious? Anything he cherished? Anything at all." Victor inquires. Peter thinks. Nathan always put his career above everything, and despite his wealth, he never owned anything out of the ordinary, no tangible gold. "Nothing?" Victor asks noticing Peter's puzzlement. "Wait..." Victor begins. "I know something."
"What? How could you-" Peter says, being cut off.
"It's you! Ghosts will rush to the side of any loved one whose blood is spilt. Are you willing?" After a short pause, Peter answers with a nod. He will have to get around the regenaration power he took from Claire somehow. It would take a good deal of concentration, but he knew he could do it. He had to.
"Now, let's discuss payment." Victor says. "It's $800 an hour." Peter is surprised by this, but it doesn't matter. He nods again to agree.
"Can we start right now?" Peter asks. Victor smiles. He sorts through his coat pocket and pulls out a paper clip. He bends the end up and takes Peter's hand. Pressing hard against the palm, Victor slices Peter's hand and the blood comes, it takes everything Peter has to hold the power back. He grabs Peter's other hand and concentrates.
"There are many wandering spirits in this city," Victor mutters. "They can be bewildered easily. It may take some time for your brother to get here." Victor does not break his focucs. Soon, a ghostly figure emerges, seemingly out of Victor's body. It is difficult to see, but the figure looks like an older woman. It is definitly not Nathan, though. The woman's mouth begins to move and momentarily after, Victor begins to speak with a very smooth and caring tone to his voice.
"Helen, is that you? Where are you? I'm so proud of you, darling. I have to tell you the truth-" she is speaking through Victor, but is cut off as another ghost comes and she disappears. This time it is a man, but it isn't Nathan.
"Cecile!" he shouts. "Please don't marry him! I'm waiting for you." And he disappears just as the woman did.
"Peter?" comes Victor's voice. Suddenly, Nathan appears and Peter can not control his power anymore, the cut begins to heal.
"Nathan!" Peter cries. "Nathan! I'm so sorry, I never meant for this to happen! It haunts me everyday! I wish that I'd gone instead of you!" Peter says, suppressing tears.
"Don't say that, Pete." Nathan says through Victor. "I would have hated myself if I let killing half of New York rest on your conscience. Trust me, it's better off this way-" Nathan is cut off, disappears and another ghost emerges.
"Victor!" Peter says shaking Victor's hand in attempt to wake him up from his trance. Victor inhales heavily and opens his eyes. His skin was pale and translucent, almost see-through, but some humanly color was coming back.
"You okay?" Peter asks him.
"Yeah..." Victor answers. "What time is it?" Peter looks at his watch.
""1:15," Peter says.
"Let me see, that's...$900."
"No. I'm not paying that."
"Then don't expect to use my power again!"
"I wouldn't want to. I hardly spoke two words to Nathan!"
"That is not my fault in the slightest! Many spirits have something to say to the living! They're all fighting for that opportunity once it materializes!" Victor shouts, angry his pocket doesn't have floodbacks flooding it. "If I don't have-"
"Wait," Peter says calmly. He goes into his coat pocket and takes out his wallets. "I have $352 here. Come to the bank with me for the rest." Victor eyes him suspicously, afraid Peter may have mafia allies on rooftops waiting to point their cross bows precisely at Victor's heart.
"Come on," Peter says starting to walk down the path. "Come on, you can trust me, I still need your help." Victor starts walking with him.
"What made you change your mind?" Victor asks, curious because he never thought what he said would be enough to convince Peter.
"I have this idea," Peter starts. "What is when Nathan comes, we put a sort of force field barrier up to keep the others away?"
"That could work." Victor says after pondering it for a second. "But how would we do that?"
"Let's just say that you're not the only one with a power."
Angela Petrelli wakes with a start in her upscale New York City townhouse. She shivers from the frightening and unsettling scence that flooded her dreams, that were already developing a habit of repeating themselves gratuitously. The dream did not make sense itself, and Mrs. Petrelly was terrified by what she surmised from it. In the dream, she saw Claire. Not moving. Not smiling, she was dead. Rosemary is there, crying, and then Mrs. Petrelli is staring into the eyes of a madman. That's when she realizes it's her son, Peter. He is staring at Claire not breathing, Rosemary crying, but he seems, somehow, pleasesd, though he does not give anything away with the cold grimace on his face. He starts to walk closer to the two women when the dream ends abruptly, and Angela is left to speculate and wonder the worst. She picks up the phone on her night stand and dials quickly.
The phone rings. Mohinder answers it.
"Hello?" he says through the reciever.
"Suresh?" It's Mr. Wilkes, your boss." the callers tells him. Mohinder begins to fear for his job at the sound of Wilkes' voice.
"Is there anythign wrong, sir?" Mohinder asks trying to sound like nothing was wrong to begin with.
"Wrong? Well no! Actually, I've been invited to an event for rare book dealers in Italy. The bad news is I'm going to have to ask you to work weekends for the next two weeks.
"Will I be paid?"
"Of course you will! I'm not running a sweatshop!" Wilkes laughes.
"Time and a half, right? Because I'm already woking 50 hour weeks"
"Mhm...I'm afraid I can't do that for you, Suresh."
"Why not? Weekends are overtime for me.
"Yes, but considering the econoy, among other things, I just can't do it." Wilkes told him. It seened a reasonable answer, but Mohinder knew he was lying through his teeth. The store may not get much business in person, but the internet sales were excelling astonishingly. Not just in New York were the books being sold, but across the country and internationally. Mohinder should know, after all, he handles all the shipping!
"Fine." Mohinder mutters, not wanting to lose his job.
"Alright. Thanks a lot." Wilkes says, then hangs up the phone. Mohinder flings himself onto his bed and covers his face with the blankets. He is never happy anymore. There were countless moments when he feels the need to crawl into bed, just as he is now, and never come out again.