The Price of a Memory
Part 12/17
"Aren't you scared yet?"
Peter could see from the look on Claude's face that the question came out more genuinely peevish than he'd intended. Meanwhile, Molly sat between them, suppressing yet another giggle at the antics of the characters on the screen in front of them.
"This movie's supposed to be scary, you know," Claude pointed out. "He kills people for fun."
"I think he's funny," Molly said.
"Do you hear this?" Claude asked, addressing Peter over the top of Molly's head. "Power-mad, murderous scientists are funny, she says."
Peter smiled vaguely. "The guy is naked," Peter said. "That's a little funny."
Claude hadn't been around for over a week but when he'd shown up at the apartment that day, he'd brought with him the original version of The Invisible Man on DVD. Peter did what he could to follow the story without asking too many questions, but one thing he had managed to keep track of from scene to scene was the way the title character gleefully stripped of his fully visible clothes every time he needed to elude the police. It all seemed pretty risqué for a movie from the 1930's.
"Well, I don't think it's funny at all," Claude said, sullenly offended.
"Perhaps you should be reminded of how fortunate you are that your clothes turn invisible with the rest of you," Mohinder remarked from where he sat, bent over some notebook at his desk. "Think of all the infectious diseases you could have died from if you'd been forced to run around New York in the nude." He glanced up at Claude over the top of his glasses.
"Quiet, you," Claude replied without looking away from the screen. "You decided not to watch, remember? Therefore, you don't get to participate in the heckling.'
Mohinder raised an eyebrow. "You know, it's really quite difficult to imagine how we managed to do without you this past week," he commented.
"Just not the same with all that peace and quiet, is it?" Claude replied. "Probably wondered what it was you used to do with yourselves before that serendipitous chain of events that brought me into your lives all those weeks ago."
Claude said this with the expected amount of sarcasm but, in truth, Peter had found himself wondering that very thing more than once during the time that Claude had been gone. Sitting alone at the coffee place every morning with only his newspaper for company, he'd found himself strangely aware of the fact that Claude wasn't with him. Usually people he didn't see on a regular basis (at least, the ones from his new life) had a habit of slipping Peter's mind as if they were a set of keys and he'd forgotten where he'd left them. But the emptiness of his days without the invisible man made it impossible not to feel Claude's absence.
Without Claude around to distract him, Peter had been free to dwell on the dreams that had become increasingly frequent and vivid since his talk with Nathan. Knowing now that the image of himself jumping over the side of a building was real, he'd begun to wonder about the second vision--the one where he was thrown over the edge against his will. Was that real too? Or was his mind just inventing some new scenario to protect him from the horror of the knowledge that he'd once tried to kill himself? Originally, Peter had assumed the latter but as the nights wore on and the dreams began to bleed into his waking life, he started examining the situation more closely until there were nights when he could almost see the face of the person whose hand it was grabbing him by the shoulder, pushing him over the side. If only he could pause the dream at that exact moment and see who it was.
Not that the idea that someone had tried to kill him was anymore comforting than the idea that he'd once tried to kill himself. But it was something. With Simone Deveaux and Isaac Mendez dead, it could very well be the last key to his missing past. One that Nathan himself couldn't keep Peter from seeking out.
"Can people see you in the snow, Claude?" Molly asked after a while. The movie was nearing its finale. On screen, the police had cornered the invisible man inside a barn in the middle of a blizzard.
"I still have footprints, if that's what you're asking," Claude said.
"Yeah, but if it's snowing out, wouldn't people be able to see the snow sticking to you?" she asked. "In your hair and on your clothes?"
"Christ's sake," Claude muttered.
"No, it's a good question," Mohinder said, once again lured away from his work. "If, for example, someone was to throw a bag of flour over you while you were invisible, would they be able to see you or would the flour turn invisible with you?"
"I imagine they'd be too busy getting the shit kicked out of them to find out," Claude replied mildly. "In case you were thinking of testing that theory out."
"I wasn't, but I'll keep that in mind," Mohinder said. "I just can't help but wonder at the nature of your invisibility. As Molly pointed out, it's not as though you're forced to run around in the nude the way the character in the movie is. It's not just your body that turns invisible, but your clothes as well. Things you touch. Perhaps you could even do it to other people."
"Hadn't thought about it," Claude said.
"But what does it mean that you can do that?" Mohinder wondered. "It makes it seem like your invisibility is more like some kind of field you're able to draw up around yourself. That is, a curtain or a veil you're able to pull things under rather than some sort of bodily emission that covers you on reflex."
Mohinder was really warming up to his subject now.
"Sorry, but did you just use the phrase 'bodily emission' in front of a small child?" Claude asked, throwing a look of exaggerated concern at an oblivious Molly.
Mohinder narrowed his eyes. "It's just interesting, that's all."
"It is what it is, mate," Claude said. "I'm not in the habit of questioning it much anymore."
Rolling his eyes, Mohinder met Peter's gaze. "What do you think, Peter?"
Peter shifted uncomfortably. Content to view conversations between Mohinder and Claude strictly as a spectator sport, he hadn't expected to be drawn in like this. "I think we're missing the end of the movie," was all he could think to say, returning his attention to the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Mohinder and Claude exchange looks.
"Is that him? Is that the real Claude Rains?" Molly whispered in the final moments of the movie as, for the first time, the face of the invisible man appeared before them.
"What do you mean the 'real Claude Rains'?" Claude asked, poking Molly in the side as the movie ended. "Are you trying to say I'm not real?"
"Does anyone feel like eating?" Mohinder interrupted before Molly could respond.
Peter looked out the window and noticed for the first time that the day was darkening into evening.
"A nice filet mignon might do, if you're offering," Claude replied.
Mohinder narrowed his eyes. "I was thinking more along the lines of Chinese takeaway," he said. "I don't suppose you'd like to stay and eat with us?"
"Is that an invitation or a threat?" Claude asked.
But Mohinder was already up and reaching for his coat. He took Molly's down off the rack as well, holding it out to her.
"Molly, why don't you come with me?" he said.
She hopped off the couch without protest, taking her coat and putting on her shoes. When she was done, Mohinder turned to Peter and Claude, who hadn't moved from their places on opposite ends of the couch. "Any special requests?" he asked.
"Just the usual," Peter said.
Mohinder raised an eyebrow. "And what's the usual?"
"Pop quiz," Claude said under his breath. "Hurry, you're on a timer." He began making ticking noises with his tongue.
"The moo goo gai pan and an egg roll," Peter replied easily.
"Fuck's sake," Claude said, making a face. "Do people actually eat moo goo gai pan? All that white stuff--"
"That's quite all right," Mohinder said, holding up a hand to forestall Claude.
"I wasn't going to go there," Claude said, bristling. "Anyway, it's the sesame chicken for me as long as you're taking orders."
"Good," Mohinder said. "We should be back in about an hour."
He threw a significant look at Claude before leaving with Molly. Peter and Claude were left alone in the apartment.
"Well, that was about as subtle as a bad romantic comedy," Claude said.
"Or a bad horror movie," Peter said, getting up from the couch and moving to the kitchen where he began pulling out plates and silverware. Claude followed but didn't help, choosing instead to watch Peter with a mildly incredulous look on his face.
"Tell me you're not actually setting the table for Chinese takeaway," he said. "I thought the whole point of takeaway was that you didn't have to set the table."
Peter gave him a look but didn't reply.
"You've been doing that a lot today, you know."
"Doing what?"
"Giving me nasty looks and not saying anything," Claude said. "I'm beginning to feel like I ran over your dog or something."
Peter sighed, letting go of a napkin he'd been in the process of folding and letting it fall to the floor.
"Where did you go?" he asked, hating himself for how pathetic the question sounded.
"I was around," Claude replied awkwardly. Then, apparently seeing that this wasn't a satisfactory answer, he added, "I had some…things to work out. On my own."
"Like what?" Peter asked, resting his hands on the back of one of the chairs.
"Like…," Claude began, coming up short. He sighed. "The fact of the matter is, there's something I need to talk to you about."
"I figured."
"How's that?" Claude asked.
"Mohinder could have just called and had the food delivered like he always does," Peter said. "He left us alone for a reason. What's going on?"
Claude shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Remember that day when I was pretending to hypnotize you and you went all Scarlett O'Hara on us and nearly fell off Suresh's couch?" he said.
Peter nodded, pressing his lips together even as, for a brief flash, his mind brought him back onto that roof, wind blowing in his hair.
"You saw something that day," Claude said, coming closer now, creeping around the table. "And I think I know what it is you saw."
Even as he said it, Peter was already lost in the vision. It didn't take much anymore, given that he'd practically been living inside the dream for the past week. He'd memorized every corner of that nightmare, agonized to know what it was that had brought him to that place. What had made him want to jump. And just for a second, he always felt he could take that one crucial moment and, instead of stepping into thin air, he could make himself turn back. But he could never quite make it happen. He couldn't make any of it less real.
He was even getting used to the way the dream would shift like a kaleidoscope turning to form a new picture in his head. He was still on a roof but now he wasn't alone. The back of his throat ached like he'd just been in some kind of shouting match. And then the second person was there, looming over him. Rough fingers dug into his skin, hauling him up. A brief glimpse of the person's face--leering dangerously--and then he was falling. Hurtling toward the ground, the wind whistling in his ears, helpless screams ripping themselves from his throat. Below him, he saw a parked cab and he knew he was headed straight for it, that he was going to hit it and he wasn't going to survive.
Nathan's voice: The important thing isn't that you jumped, Peter…The important thing is that you survived. Think about it.
He didn't want to die.
Just as the vision was about to complete itself, Peter was back in the kitchen at Mohinder's apartment. Claude had grabbed him by the shoulder with one hand and was trying to cover his mouth with the other. Peter realized he was still screaming in anticipation of colliding with that parked cab and that Claude was trying to silence him.
"Christ, what was that?" Claude asked when Peter had managed to stop himself from crying out, sounding not a little shaken as he searched Peter's eyes. They were standing close enough that Peter could feel the other man's breath on his face.
For a moment, they just stood like that, frozen.
Then it began to slowly dawn on Peter that something about the vision had been different this time around. This time, he'd done more than catch a glimpse of the face of the man throwing him to his death. This time he'd seen it and he knew who it was.
"It was you," Peter said, voice a quivering whisper.
"Fucking hell, we'll be lucky if someone doesn't phone the police after that," Claude said as if Peter hadn't spoken. He reached around, pulling out a chair and trying to push Peter into it. Peter resisted. "What happened?"
"You threw me over the side of a building," Peter said. He twisted out of Claude's grasp and circled around so that the table was between them. "You threw me over the side of a building!"
Claude blinked, his expression smoothing into a shocked kind of blankness like someone who'd been backhanded without provocation. "What did you say?" he said.
"You heard me," Peter said, slowly backing toward the door.
"But you…," Claude said, lost for the second time in as many minutes. "You shouldn't know that."
Bile rose in Peter's throat. "You tried to kill me," he said, his voice hoarse from screaming. "I saw you do it. It's…It's in my head."
"Hang on just a second," Claude said, holding up a placating hand. "I think maybe you're getting your wires crossed here. Which is scary, considering I didn't know you had wires to cross in the first place. I never--"
"Is that why you're here?" Peter asked. "Is that why you've been here the whole time? It didn't work the first time, so now you're going to try again. Is that it?"
Claude's jaw slackened in open incredulity. "You've got to be joking," he said. "Christ, only you could twist something like that into some kind of murder conspiracy. I marvel at your talent for getting things so completely, ridiculously wrong. I really do."
They stared at each other a moment.
"If I'd wanted to kill you, I wouldn't have suffered the annoyance of your companionship all this time just to gain your trust first," Claude said after a moment. Strangely, the words almost sounded like a greeting card coming from him. "I just would have done it."
In a sick way, Peter wanted to believe him. Maybe part of him did.
But then his back came up against the door, the knob pressing into his side. Claude took a tentative step toward him. Rather than be trapped where he stood, Peter instead chose to run. Pounding down the stairs, his heart racing in his chest, he heard Claude shout after him, the other man's footsteps behind his as he pounded down the stairs. But he didn't turn or even pause long enough to figure out where he was going. All he knew was that he had to get away. Away from the place that had become his home. Away from the people he'd come to trust. Away from the man who'd become his friend. Because even if Claude denied that he'd once tried to kill Peter, there was one thing he didn't deny and that was that he'd been there, on that roof with Peter in the first place.
Either way, it had all been lies.