She'd dreamt about him again.

She was sitting in class, strangely wearing the light blue nightshirt she wore that night he kidnapped her. It was her philosophy class she took last year, and her teacher, Mr. Wilkes, had just written the words "love" and "hate" on the board.

"Now class, as we learned from our reading of Moby Dick, love and hate can share one quality: obsession. No matter how much we may revile and despite a person or thing, we may be attracted to it by an obsession to possess it. It is a terrifying feeling, class, when we are attracted to something we have been taught to hate."

At this point in the dream, Claire always realizes that it's no longer Mr. Wilkes teaching the class, but Sylar, wearing the thick black glasses and plaid pants that are always associated with her teacher. He looks straight at her, a devilish look in his eyes, and walks over to her desk, leaning over her in such a way that she is trapped. His face is so close to hers that she can feel his hot breath on her face.

"You know something about this, don't you, Claire?" Sylar always asks. Claire replies by screaming in terror and the dream usually ends right there.

Fortunately, her screams never penetrated the waking world. She'd only awake in a cold sweat, heart racing. Her encounter with Sylar was now nearly a month ago, but it might as well have been the day before.

Her parents didn't even know she had been gone.

Once Claire had calmed down enough to leave the abandoned building, she quickly realized where she was and managed to get home on foot. She got back to her house, terrified that her parents had missed her and she would somehow have to explain what had happened, but when she looked in the window, her parents were still downstairs, now watching a movie. She must have only been gone a few hours.

She snuck in through the backdoor which Lyle, much to her relief, must have forgotten to lock when he left that night. She crept silently up the stairs to her room. Once she was there, she looked around in terror, afraid that perhaps Sylar was waiting for her. But no, the room was dark, cool and silent. Shaking, Claire pulled off the nightshirt she had been wearing and put on a pair of pajamas. She couldn't stand to wear that garment tonight, or any other night again—not after what had happened to her while she wore it.

Sylar had taken her cover when he had kidnapped her, so she pulled another one from her closet, and, crawling into bed, wrapped herself tightly in it. Not surprisingly, she couldn't sleep, but surprisingly, it was not because of fear.

Her body still was sensitive from where Sylar had touched her. She couldn't stop thinking about it. He had aroused her, in ways that had never happened before. Not that she hadn't been attracted to other men. With Zach it had been a childlike love—she felt innocent with him. With Brody it was a flirtation; he was handsome and popular and she knew she would belong. Peter, as always, she couldn't think of. But he would always be her knight in shining armor; he represented platonic chivalry.

But Sylar…he awakened violent desires she didn't know she had. She wanted to bite him, to dig her nails into him, to pull his hair. She wanted to wrap her legs around him and ride him like an animal. She hated him more than anything else in this world. But she also wanted him just as much.

And after what he had done that night, he must feel the same way…

But even while feeling these violent emotions, Claire felt terrible guilt. How could she lust after the man who had brought such misery to her family and friends? He killed Jackie. Granted, Jackie was a bitch, but she was still a human life that Sylar had taken. Her father had risked his life to protect her from Sylar, as had Peter, and here she was, fantasizing about him?

And what if he came back…? Maybe this time he'd just try to kill her. She almost hoped that if she ever had to face him again, that's what would happen. Because she wasn't sure if he seduced her, that she would be able to resist him.

Her parents didn't suspect anything. The feelings of fear and unrest that she wore on her face were easily excused by the events of the last few months. Her mother tried to encourage her to go shopping, to watch movies, even to participate in after school activities, but Claire could barely focus on the things she needed to do.

One day, after having grown tired of being stuck in the house all day, wallowing in her own fear and confusion, Claire asked her father to drive her to the library.

"Is it a school thing?" Noah had asked her as they pulled into the parking lot.

"No, I just thought it might get be fun to get lost in a book," she answered.

Her father looked at her in that probing way he did when he suspected that there was more going on than she would admit. "You know you can tell me anything, Claire-bear," he said gently.

Claire smiled weakly. "When something comes up, I'll be sure to let you know, Dad. But for now, I just need time to myself."

Noah smiled back. He wasn't entirely convinced, but she was becoming an adult and he was beginning to realize that there would be things that he just couldn't help her with. He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I'll pick you up at four."

Claire got out of the car and watched as the silver SUV circled the lot and turned out onto the road. She could never tell him. How could she explain the feelings she was having? She'd seem treacherous and ungrateful if her father knew that she had desires for the man he nearly died protecting her from. No, she would have to resolve this issue by herself.

Claire had been searching the library catalogs and databases for nearly an hour, and still hadn't found what she was looking for. She couldn't even say what she was looking for exactly—something having to do with desire and hatred, maybe something pertaining to human psychology. Claire wasn't even sure if her psychology worked the way normal people's did. She sighed and closed down the last database she was searching. It was hopeless.

She walked up to the second floor of the library, looking at random titles, feeling listless.

Suddenly she heard a voice behind her. "You look like you are lost."

Claire jumped, and turned around. The voice came from a man, who appeared to be of Japanese descent. He was dressed in a nicely tailored suit and shiny brown wingtips. He was older, but with the carriage of someone who had once commanded great power. Nevertheless the look in his eyes seemed genuine.

Claire smiled. "I'm not lost, exactly. I just don't know quite from I'm looking for."

"Hmm," the man replied. His voice was deep and resonant, with only a hint of an accent. "That is normal for someone of your age. Perhaps I can help, if you are willing to tell me all of your concerns." He walked slightly closer to Claire, far enough to maintain a respectful distance, but close enough to appear intimate to anyone passing by.

Claire was a little unnerved by the man's presumption, but something told her she could trust him. "I'm…feeling things I've never felt before. And part of me is telling me that they are wrong and I need to fight it, but another part of me is dying to indulge in it."

The man nodded. "This probably isn't something we should discuss here on the floor. Perhaps we should find a more private place to talk. I am a volunteer librarian here, and I have my own office. Does that sound good?"

Again Claire was taken aback by the man's forwardness, but strangely he seemed to know her, and even more strangely, she felt she knew him from somewhere as well. With some reservations, she agreed.

When Claire entered the man's office, she was struck by the beautiful art and sculpture in it. She was no art connoisseur, but the pieces looked old and expensive. She sat down in the brass chair while the man sat behind the desk.

"Now," he started. "You said you are having feelings that disturb you. These are…undiscovered passions, I take it?" he seemed to by trying to put it as delicately as he could.

Claire's eyes widened. "Yes. How did you know that?"

The man chuckled. "When you've lived as long as I have, you learn that there are very few emotions that can tear you apart the way passion does."

Claire looked down, all of a sudden feeling shy. She wished she hadn't come here, even if the man seemed to understand. She was too young to feel this way.

"You feel that at your age, you shouldn't have discovered passions this strong," the man remarked, almost as if he read her thoughts. "But you are wrong. When I saw you, I knew that you were special. You have endured more at your age than most people will ever face in a lifetime. That will make other things come to you earlier as well."

Claire looked up at the man. "I had accepted that," she told him, the emotion growing in her voice. "But what I feel—for the person I feel it for—is wrong. It would be wrong no matter how old I was. I…I hate him! He's done so much damage, hurt so many people. And I'm afraid of him. He…he once tried to kill me. But I escaped him. But he's caught me again. He had the chance to kill me, but instead he…toyed with me. And…I don't know what he wants from me."

"You're afraid that you'll meet up with him again, and you'll give in to him."

"Wouldn't you be, if you were me? There are people, people that I love dearly, that have worked hard to keep me safe. If I give in to him, I'm betraying them!"

The man furrowed his brow in thought. Then he asked, "Did it ever occur to you that perhaps he's giving in to you?"

Claire wiped away the tears that had fallen. "Giving in…to me?

"Yes. This man seems that he had a master plan for his destruction. But now he is beginning to alter his usual path. You just said that his original plan was to kill you, but now he changed what he's done. He's rethinking his aims. You can use that to your advantage. If he does have any feelings for you, you've found his weakness. Exploit it. Bring him down. If he is as evil as you say he is, then you know there is no happy ending to the passion you feel."

Claire sighed heavily. "I don't know if I'm strong enough."

The man then stood up from his chair and walked to the front of his desk, leaning on it. "You must take his strength and make it your own. True power is not given to you; you must take it. Make your passion your weapon. That is the only way you can be free."

Claire was silent. The man helped her from the chair and walked her to the door. "You will need to think about this. I know. But you must not wait too long. I have a feeling that you will be confronted with the situation sooner than later. You must be ready."

Claire nodded and smiled sadly. "Thank you for all you've done, Mr…"

"Nakamura," the man replied. "It was my pleasure."

Claire looked at her watch and saw that it was a little past four, which shocked her. She had no idea so much time had passed while talking to Mr. Nakamura; it had only seemed a few minutes. She quickly made it toward the exit, only to find her father and Peter Petrelli waiting anxiously for her.

"What's wrong?" she asked once she reached them.

"It's Sylar," Peter said with distress. "He's back. He killed a man in New York over a month ago."

Claire could feel her heart pounding, but she tried to appear unconcerned. "Well, that's New York. We're all the way in Washington state," she said.

"If he's alive, you're in danger, Claire," her father said. "He's moves fast, and you know you're on the top of his list."

Claire opened her mouth to speak, but her father motioned for her to be silent and all three of them got into the SUV and drove away.

"So what are we going to do?" Claire asked from the backseat.

"We have to get you someplace safe," Peter told her. "My mother is supposed to meet us at the airport. She's taking you to Paris."

"Paris!" Claire exclaimed. "We just settled down here, I just got my family back, and now you're making me leave again?"

"Claire-bear, it's for your own safety," Noah told her. "If you stay here with us, he will find you and he will kill you."

I'm not so sure of that anymore, Claire thought to herself. She looked up to find Peter staring at her with a surprised look. She then remembered, with alarm, that Peter had absorbed Matt Parkman's powers and could occasionally hear thoughts. Had he heard her? She knew she had to be careful and cover her thoughts.

"Well, maybe he's learned his lesson when he faced Peter last. Maybe he won't come after our group again," she reasoned.

"Still, we can't take that chance," Noah said, stopping the car at the red light. Peter looked at her carefully, then turned back to the front.

Claire rolled her eyes and looked around. The little shops, the park—all the things she was beginning to enjoy—they were about to be taken from her again. That man! He was ruining her life. She wanted to kill him. To hell with the fact that he made her hot. She wanted him to suffer the way he had made her suffer.

She looked over of her window and her eyes widened in surprise. He was standing there! It was several hundred yards away, but she could never mistake him. He was dressed all in black, his dark eyes piercing right through her. A smug smile was set on his face. Three months ago, this would have terrified Claire to the core. But today her face was cold with rage.

With no second thoughts, she opened her car door and jumped out just before the light turned green. She could hear her father and Peter's voices behind her, calling her name, but she paid no attention. He was after her, and she was going to lure him away from hurting the men she loved.

As she ran in his direction, she realized he wasn't there anymore. She then darted into the park and ran down the paved path reserved for jogging. She knew in a few seconds her father and Peter would catch up to her, and she just couldn't let that happen. Impetuously she darted into the bushes by the path and began wading through them, heedless of the sharp tiny briars that stuck into her skin.

At last she reached a clearing inside the woods, far away from the street and its noises. She knew she was deep now. A dead body wouldn't be found here for at least a few days.

She was afraid to turn around. Because something told her, he was there. But she had to turn around sometime. She did, and sure enough, there he was, his eyes dark, his mouth twisted into a sinister grin. "Well, don't you just find the best surprises in the woods?" he said nastily.

Claire heart raced, but she steeled herself and said in the calmest voice she could muster, "Here to finish the job you started, Sylar? I didn't know you fancied rape as well as murder."

The grin fell from his face and his eyes lost some of their sinister shade. That hit him hard. This was her chance. Claire held up her hand to strike him, only to find herself flying through the air seconds later and slammed against a huge oak tree. Apparently being stabbed through the chest didn't affect his telekinesis.

Claire felt a rib break. But she stood up, pulled up her shirt, and popped it back into place. The cut she felt on her head was already beginning to close up. Sylar was still standing in the same spot as before. He seemed mesmerized by watching her body heal itself.

Then he was walking towards her. Claire stood her ground quietly while he lunged and wrapped his hand around her neck. "I had just been toying with you," he said, although he didn't sound so convinced of it.

"Of course," Claire said in a suffocated voice. "My breasts make the best toys."

Shocked, he released her and she fell to the ground. "So, you were awake the entire time," he said quietly.

"Most of it," Claire said, remaining on the ground. "You've got a very gentle touch for a homicidal hardcase."

Instantly, Claire regretted saying that. Now he knew that she had enjoyed at least part of what happened. He smiled, and with his telekinesis brought her back to her feet, within inches of his face.

"I didn't know you felt that way towards me, Claire dear. I'm flattered," he purred.

Suddenly a flash of anger ran through Claire and she scratched him across the face with her nails. "I'd never feel anything for a psychopath like you!" she cried.

Sylar growled in anger and recoiled. His eyes were practically glowing as the diagonal scratches Claire gave him began to bleed.

"Big mistake," Sylar said in his daemonic voice. With his mind he once again threw her against the tree and pinned her there. Enough playing. He was going to get what he wanted.

Claire gulped back a sob and stared up at the sky. This was it. He was going to kill her. But at least she had lured him away from Peter and her father. At least they were safe. And before she died she had passed her gift on to Peter. He would be there to stop Sylar.

But he didn't kill her. Instead Sylar pressed himself against her. He had pinned her several inches from the ground, so that they were at eye level. Claire looked at him in shock. She could feel his hardness pressing into her, and for all of her resistance, she began to feel the tell-tale pull in her stomach of arousal.

"I know you want me," he growled. He wrapped one arm around her waist while with the other he tore at the crotch of her jeans. Claire yelped as she felt cool air hit her in the spot.

"You and I are supposed to do this, Claire. The sooner you accept it, the easier it will be," Sylar whispered in her ear.

"No..." Claire sobbed. "No, not you…"

She felt his palm make contact with her mound. His hand traveled up to the waistband of her panties and found its way inside. She felt his fingers make contact with her flesh and knew that he would discover how wet she was. She trembled, trying to look away.

"Don't try to deny it!" Sylar shouted, forcing his fingers inside of her. Claire gasped in shock. It had hurt when he did that, but on the edge of the pain was pleasure that terrified her.

"You want me. Say it," Sylar demanded, the palm of his hand pressing against her clitoris.

Claire wasn't prepared for how good that would feel. Unconsciously she pressed herself against that hand and moaned quietly. Sylar grinned and began to pull away. After all, if she didn't want him, he shouldn't make her.

"No, please," Claire begged. It had felt so good.

"Please what?" Sylar teased cruelly.

Claire gritted her teeth. "You know."

"No, I don't think I do. Maybe I should just let you go," Sylar taunted.

He had expected her to cry, to whimper, then he'd drop her and walk away, leaving her feeling used and humiliated. He hadn't expected what she did next.

Claire wrapped one leg around his body and grabbed his hair, pulling his forehead against hers. "Give it to me," she growled determinedly.

That did it. Sylar pressed his hand against Claire once again and began to move in and out, creating a rhythm. Claire ground her body against his hand, moaning without restraint.

She began to feel tension building in her, cresting. She looked right into Sylar's eyes and said, "It's coming! Oh, it's coming," and she felt her insides burning while being drained at the same time. She threw her head back and cried.

Sylar gasped in surprise, his own breath ragged and uneven. He'd never done anything like this before. He could feel his fingers being bathed in her juices as her insides clenched down on them. Ohhh…if it felt like this when he was teasing her, imagine how it would feel if they went all the way…

Still pinned to the tree, Claire wrapped both legs around Sylar's waist, both arms around his neck. He pulled his hand, glistening, from between her legs and wrapped his arms around her waist, their foreheads pressed together. Both of them panting, but not yet ready to look each other in the eyes. But then Claire focused on his face, and noticed the blood she had drawn from the scratches on his cheek. She ran one finger over a scar, looked at the blood on her finger, and, looking him right in the eyes, put it to her mouth and sucked the blood off.

Sylar glared at her. What had happened to the sweet, innocent little cheerleader he had been pursuing? Claire was vicious, hungry, and utterly irresistible.

He was ready to lay her on the ground and have her right there, but his hearing told him that two people were approaching. He looked in the direction of the voices and could see Petrelli and Bennet coming through the brush. He released his embrace of Claire and looked toward the trees, then back at her.

"We'll meet again," he said simply, and ran off.

Claire watched as he disappeared, then, remembering her torn jeans, pulled her jacket close about her and zipped it up to hide it.

A few seconds later, Peter and Noah were there, embracing her, asking if she was all right, looking her over for injuries (which was fruitless, they knew, but it was instinct).

Peter looked at Noah. "She's in shock. But I think she's all right."

Noah drew his daughter close to his chest. "Thank God he spared your life. It's a miracle."

In a few hours, Claire was showered and in bed, presumably asleep. The Gaithers and Peter gathered downstairs to go over what had happened. After her ordeal, they decided it was best to hold off on taking her to Paris, anticipating that Sylar would think they would do something like that. Now they had to decide what would come next.

"We're never going to be rid of that man, are we?" Sandra asked in despair. Noah pulled her against him on the sofa and let her weep into his chest. He then looked up at Peter, who was staring off into space and clutching the arms of his chair tensely.

"Peter, what is it?" Noah asked quietly.

Peter was about to reply, then looked at the red eyed Sandra and said, "It's been a long day, that's all. I need to go," he rose from the chair and gave Sandra a kiss on the cheek, then went to shake Noah's hand. As Noah grasped his hand Peter pulled him in closer, whispered, "Call you in five minutes" and quickly left the house.

Noah managed to send Sandra away to their bedroom in just enough time for the phone to ring. He answered it. "Yes?" he said tensely.

"Something happened to Claire. I fished it out of her thoughts after we found her," Peter said in a hoarse voice on the other line.

"Did Sylar hurt her? What happened?" Noah said, in his defensive fatherly tone.

"I-I don't know. All I was able to get from her was something like, 'How could I do this?' 'I shouldn't have let it happen'—something like that. Whatever happened, Claire feels that she did something wrong."

Noah closed his eyes in relief. "She was probably just feeling guilty for bolting out of the car and worrying us, that's all."

"Maybe," Peter said, unconvinced. "But I also picked up a name. It was very faint, probably at the very back of her mind. But it might mean something."

"What was the name?"

Peter swallowed before he answered. "Nakamura."

Noah felt his veins go cold. He was sure Claire wasn't thinking about Hiro Nakamura; she hadn't met him yet, and besides, the boy was harmless. No…it was probably time to look up an old friend—unless that old friend already looked him up and had talked to his daughter. But he needed answers, and he needed to find them alone. He slipped back into his "company man" mentality and felt the coolness and distance come over him.

"Thank you, Peter. I'll be in touch," he replied, and hung up the phone.

"Wait! Noah!" Peter called into the phone, then realized he was yelling at a dial tone and hung up. He knew something; Peter was sure of it. Claire was his niece; he was her protector, he decided. He was going to get to the bottom of this and make sure that her life wasn't ruined—no matter what that meant.