Here is Chapter 2. I do not own Heroes, or any characters from that show – they are owned by NBC and Tim Kring. Please review - I tried to slow down the pace a little, and I want to see what people think. I also need some suggestions for later chapters.

November 12

I was awakened by an aid worker, who said that I had a visitor. At first I thought it would be one of Nathan's goons, or even Nathan himself. Instead, I was introduced to a cop.

"Claire Bennet?" He had a Texas accent.

"Yes?"

"My name is Officer Tucker of the Odessa City Police. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

Just when I thought my life had hit rock-bottom, it got worse. Mom and Lyle were dead. They had been murdered in a drive-by shooting. The police thought that it might be gang-related. But I knew that it was the Company – the people Dad worked for. I also knew that there was a connection between the Company and my grandmother.

In less than two months, my life had completely collapsed. First I had discovered my power. I thought that I was a freak. I thought that I would end up as a guinea pig of some kind, spending my life in a laboratory. I thought I met my real parents, but they weren't real. I figured that they were probably dead. So I had lost my biological family.

Then there was homecoming, and I lost Jackie, but I met Peter Petrelli. And then I lost Zach. Finally, I had to act like I had lost my memory. For two weeks, I lived the lie that I remembered nothing of homecoming, or of my abilities.

Things started looking up a few weeks later. I got Zach back, and I met my biological mother. I nearly met my biological father, but that didn't go too well. But then my mom began having memory lapses, and I began to lose her.

The real downturn came when Ted Sprague and Matt Parkman showed up at our house. That was the last time I ever saw my mother and brother, but I didn't know it at the time. What I lost that day was a home. Not only did my house literally blow up, but I was separated from my family.

I was on the verge of gaining a new family, when the explosion came. That explosion took away my dad and my uncle. It also shattered any chance that I would go to live with Nathan Petrelli. I could if I wanted to, but I didn't want to. And now I had lost my old family for good.

November 15

My sixteenth birthday. Nathan showed up at the refugee camp. He made an inspiring speech to everyone, about how we will unite in the wake of this tragedy. I could barely conceal my hatred for him. When others cheered, I glared. I left before the press conference.

Shortly after the speech, Nathan's wife, Heidi, came through the hall I was staying in. She was in a wheelchair, but looked uncomfortable in it. She spoke to several of the refugees before coming to a stop in front of me.

"And who are you?" she asked me.

"Claire Bennet," I said.

"Where are your parents, Claire?"

"They're dead."

"Well, I have some good news, Claire. Before coming here, I checked to see if any of your family had contacted you. Your grandmother is alive – she's in Massachusetts. A van will take you in an hour."

I did a good impression of being shocked. I didn't want to live with my bio-parents, but I did want to see my grandmother again. I needed to get some answers from her.

The drive to Massachusetts took forever, mostly due to traffic. But late that night, the black van arrived at the Petrellis' vacation home in Nantucket. My grandmother – Angela – was waiting for me. She was dressed in a white fur coat with black trim. It was typical of her – prim, poised, and cold as ice.

The first thing I did was to deck her. She didn't fall over, but she was holding her nose. I had probably broken it.

"YOU BITCH!" I spat at her. "Are you so desperate to have me live with you to kill my family?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," she said. "And that is no way to talk to your grandmother."

"My mom and brother! They were murdered, and I know you were involved. Why did you do it?"

"There are a lot of things you aren't mature enough to understand. Eventually, you will."

That did it. I drew the knife out of my backpack, and lunged forward. Before I reached Angela, a guard grabbed me and pulled the knife out of my hand.

"You will have to learn some decency, young lady," she chastised me, as if I had merely sworn at her rather than gone after her with a knife.

I think that's what set it off. All the grief and frustration and rage I had built up came out. A gout of fire burst from my hand, burning my grandmother's face, and setting her coat on fire. More bodyguards came to help her, and keep me away from her. I simply stared at my hands. True, I had seen stuff like this before – specifically, with my birth mother – but when you do it yourself, it's different.

I gave my grandmother one final glare. "You know how parents sometimes disown their children?" I said. "Well, I'm disowning you. As of now, you are no longer my family. Goodbye, Angela Petrelli."

I stormed out of there. As I did, I passed a weeping willow tree. I took a good look at it. It was clearly quite old. I could just make out an ancient "D + A" inside a heart. "D" – that would be my grandfather, David Petrelli. My grandparents must have carved their initials into the tree decades ago.

I torched the willow. Blasted it with flame. While it burned, it looked similar to a mushroom cloud. I left it as a reminder to the Petrellis. A reminder that I existed, and that I hated them. I had burned a memory of theirs to ash. As did any connections I had with the Petrelli family.

I spent that night in a secluded spot near a rocky beach. I had lost almost everything in my life – my home, my friends, my family. What did I have left to connect me with my old identity?

The answer came a moment later – myself. The only connection I had with the old Claire Bennet was me – my mind, my body. No matter what they did, I would always exist. I would always be alive. And I found some comfort in that. I am a survivor. I am invincible.

November 16

My original plan had been to simply hike across the country back to Texas. However, there was a slight problem – Nantucket is an island. We had arrived via ferry, and in order to get off, I would need to take the ferry back. With my purse vaporized along with New York, I was wondering how I could get money for a ticket.

For my fifteenth birthday, my parents had gotten me a debit card, in an attempt to curb my spending habits. When we were about to leave for Paris, Angela Petrelli had deposited a large sum of money in the account. And while my debit card had also been vaporized, there was a Bank of America in Nantucket.

I walked in just as the bank opened. The teller – a middle-aged black woman – greeted me.

"How can I help you, dear?"

"I lost my debit card in a fire. How do I get a replacement?"

"Do you remember the number?"

Most people wouldn't, but before I ran, I had memorized my debit card number, in case I lost the card. It was a good idea. I wrote down the number for her.

"OK, that will make it a lot easier. Now, I just need you to fill out this form."

The form asked basic information. I paused at the address line, before putting in my old address. My parents had set up a P.O. box for our mail to be forwarded to, so I could pick up any credit reports or the like. I turned in the form, and the teller went into a back room. Five minutes later, she handed me my new debit card. An hour later, I was on the ferry to the mainland.

December 24

I arrived in Pittsburgh on Christmas Eve. I had hiked all the way there from Massachusetts. Previously, I had slept outdoors, in areas not likely to attract attention. I used my money solely for food. But tonight, I decided that I would sleep indoors, as a sort of Christmas present to myself.

Also, it was really cold.

I wandered into the city, looking for a place to sleep. I ended up inside an old warehouse that looked like it was falling apart. I doubted that anyone would disturb me in here. I made a fire out of a smashed crate, and warmed up some beef jerky I had bought.

Not long after I had eaten, I heard screaming from outside. Screaming, and laughter. I listened closely, and I could tell that it was a woman screaming and two men laughing. I heard the woman cry "Rape!" and I rushed outside, leaving my backpack by the fire.

Outside, two men were chasing a young woman. She looked a few years older than me, and wore a torn white sweatshirt. In fact, most of her clothes were torn. The men were in dark jackets, and one of them had a knife.

I couldn't go to the police – I didn't have a cellphone. But I had to act – I couldn't let this woman be raped. Inaction had resulted in the destruction of New York. I had the power to stop them. It was time to use it. I recalled the time when Brody tried to rape me. I focused all my anger into my hands, and unleashed it on the rapist near me.

Fire roared from my hands, reaching towards him. He turned and looked at me, his eyes wide with shock, before he was burned alive. Almost without thinking, I sent another blast against the second rapist. The woman stared at me with a mix of gratitude and shock. Then she ran away.

Returning to my fire, I thought about what I had just done. I had killed. I chose to end the lives of two men. What right did I have to do that? What had they done to deserve death?

I knew the answer. They had tried to rape a woman. Today, a woman would return home – scared, but safe. More importantly, nobody else would be threatened by these two again. I had almost been raped myself. I knew how she had felt. And while I felt some guilt over killing the rapists, I knew that given the circumstances, it was the right thing to do.