Zero
Chapter Five
Hiro returned all too soon. Claire was enjoying herself very much as she listened to Peter recount his adventures in 1920s America. He'd worked in a newspaper office, writing articles. He'd visited speakeasies at night, listening to jazz musicians beat out the newest and hottest tunes. He'd gone to the first talkies at the theater. Claire wondered idly if she had picked the wrong time period to stay in.
"I saw The Jazz Singer! You know, with Al Jolson? The expressions on the audience's faces…it was incredible. If only we could show them what movies can do now," Peter said, smiling.
Claire's smile faded. "Are you going to miss it?"
Peter regarded her thoughtfully, but kept his smile. "I will. But we can't hide from the future forever."
Claire nodded. He was right, though she wished desperately that she could stay put. She wondered what that felt like—to feel secure in one place. It was a feeling she had never really understood, and she doubted she ever would. But if she didn't go back, then she knew she never would.
There was a sound behind them like the rushing of wind and a pop. Claire and Peter turned around, finding Hiro Nakamura and Ando Masahashi standing in the road behind them.
"I'll never get used to that feeling," Ando complained, rubbing his head with his fingers. He was decked out in an intricate robe and sandals, and wondered what position in life he had held in feudal Japan.
"You always say that," Hiro muttered. He smiled upon seeing Claire. "Claire Bennet! Peter Petrelli has found you!"
Claire nodded and smiled back. She and Peter got to their feet. "Indeed he did."
"Are you ready to return to the future? The others are waiting there for us," Hiro said.
Claire turned full-circle, taking in the world around her for one last time. She inhaled the sweet, clear night air, saw the bright, glimmering stars in the sky and the Dashiell home off in the distance, and heard the symphony of crickets and rustling grass. No, she wasn't ready, but she probably wouldn't ever be.
Hiro read the regret on Claire's face. "This is not our place. We must return. It is our destiny."
Peter placed a hand on Claire's shoulder and smiled encouragingly. "It won't be the same fight without you, Claire."
Claire sighed, but nodded. "Yeah, I'm ready. Let's just go."
"Alright, everyone," Hiro directed, gathering the heroes around him. "Hold on tight."
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Jane Elizabeth Prince had never been much of a partygoer. She preferred the company of a couple of good friends, a B-horror movie, and writers like Kafka and Nietzsche to getting drunk and making out. But her best friend, Sam, was the exact opposite.
"You have to come, Lizzie. It's like a rite of passage. It's Dessie Thompson! The eighteenth birthday party of the most popular girl in school! How can you pass that up?" Sam prodded her homemade Caesar salad in her lunchbox as she grilled Jane from across the lunch table.
Jane wore a grim expression, as if she found the whole idea completely revolting. It wasn't as if she hadn't ever gone to a party before. But the parties she frequented more-than-usually consisted of Red Bull and LAN.
But Sam was looking at her with those puppy dog eyes that won over even the strictest of teachers. Jane bit her bottom lip, telling herself over and over it was just one night. It seemed to really mean a lot to Sam, and after all the things Jane had dragged Sam to, she owed her.
"Fine, I'll go with you," Jane sighed at last. Sam beamed at her.
"Oh, wonderful! You won't regret it. I promise."
Jane doubted it, but she simply smiled back at her friend. "Seven, tonight? You'll be by to pick me up?"
"Yup. In the pickup, as usual."
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Scout had never heard anything as loud as the silence that was currently pounding in her eardrums. Her body felt frozen, and she could do nothing but stare at Sylar. Hollis looked at her friend with concern, trying to grasp what was happening.
"Scout, are you—"
"Hollis, if you would be kind enough to wait in the kitchen," Scout said automatically.
Hollis furrowed her brow, but didn't ask any more questions. With one last look at Sylar, she slipped through the storage room door.
Scout's tongue flopped like a dead fish in her mouth. She couldn't find the words to express what was running through her head, leaving her literally dumbfounded.
Two jagged ideas floated through her consciousness and bucked heads. But of this she was sure: this man had tried to kill her. But he had once saved her life.
"I didn't recognize you. You were a brunette back then," Sylar spoke softly, trying to mask stress in his voice.
"A haircut and a dye is all it takes for you to not recognize me?" Scout tried sound smug, but her voice crackled instead.
"You seem to think that…incident was important to me. It wasn't. Just a passing favor."
Scout's eyes glimmered sharply. "You saved my life."
"Out of convenience," Sylar replied shortly.
Scout growled, and considered calling Hollis back into the room. She had more questions than ever now, and could use the help. But she wanted to figure out these answers for herself. These were things she needed to learn all by herself.
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Sam's beat-up red pickup idled in front of Jane's house. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel as Jane crossed the yard and hopped into the passenger seat.
"You're wearing that?" Sam snorted, eyeing Jane's casual outfit.
Jane glanced down at her skinny-leg jeans and red Legend of Zelda t-shirt. "Yep." She regarded Sam's slinky black dress with a guffaw. "Sorry, was this supposed to be formal dress?"
Sam frowned and threw the clutch into first gear. "Nevermind, you."
A couple of blocks and a handful of sarcastic conversations later, Sam pulled onto Dessie Thompson's street. The curbs were lined with cars, and they could already hear music pulsing loudly from the house.
"Nice place," Jane commented, taking in the large driveway, cavernous doorway, and turrets. Sam parked her truck in an empty driveway.
They crossed the street and walked into Dessie's house. Jane was immediately overcome by the smell of beer and sweat. The entryway alone was filled with groups of teenagers, drinking and grinding and talking and kissing. She raised an eyebrow and glanced at Sam.
Sam didn't take the hint. She grabbed Jane's hand and pulled her through the throngs of people towards the living room. Jane could barely process the scenes and faces passing before her before she found a cup thrust into her hand.
Jane squinted at the brown liquid, then frowned at Sam. "You're not drinking, are you? If you are, I'm not."
But Sam had already taken a few sips from a cup in her hands. "Oh, come off it, Liz. We'll get home fine."
Jane peered at the cup again. When she looked up, Sam was gone. Already across the room dancing with a boy she recognized from Spanish class.
To hell with it, Jane decided, bringing her cup to her lips.
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"Hi, Riley." Hollis closed the door behind her almost silently. Riley heard the bolt slide and click into place, as well as Hollis' quickened heartbeat.
Riley was seated at the kitchen table, the mass of cheese still in front of him. He was staring at it intently. "He knows her real name."
Hollis pulled out a chair from the table and sat down. Riley flinched. Hollis grimaced. "Would you stop that? I'm not going to hurt you."
"Sorry," Riley muttered. "Old habits die hard, you know."
Hollis ignored his sarcasm. "Has Scout told you anything about her life before she found you?"
Riley's eyes darted back and forth uncomfortably as he searched his brain for a response. "The stories are always different. She's a storyteller, and whatever past tickles her fancy is what tale she spins."
"In other words, you don't know anything."
"I know…some things. Things Scout doesn't think I know. Like that her real name is Jane Prince. And that her birthday is November nineteenth. Other things I read off…" Riley read the deep intrigue in Hollis' grey eyes. "Never mind."
"I saw something in his memories. It was small, only fleeting." She leaned forward, speaking quietly. "Her face, Riley. I saw Scout's face."
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Jane vaguely remembered only brief images after that, her memories becoming increasingly infrequent. She found a boy she had admired from her trig class. Ryan. They watched as one of their fellow students impressed other drunken teens with a magic trick—he kept transfiguring small items into others. It was his only trick, but he was damned good at it. A penny to a piece of chocolate. Ryan's arm snaked around Jane's waist.
Then she remembered pool chair vinyl digging into her back as Ryan's lips brusquely covered hers. His hands covered her body.
She remembered pushing him away. He protested, but she wouldn't have it. He left.
She stared at the pool water. She had the odd sensation someone was watching her, but she knew she was alone.
She remembered Ryan's friends. They were calling her names. Slut. Whore. She was going to regret. Pay. Their words ran together in her brain.
One pushed her against the fence, forcing another cup of beer down her throat. She coughed. They laughed. They were gone then. Jane doubled over, throwing up the measly amount of contents in her stomach.
Dizzy. She fell, and barely remembered one last thing: colliding with cold water.
The next thing she knew, people were screaming. She was cold and wet, and her head hurt like a pounding jackhammer. A hand was pressed against her forehead. She tried opening her eyes, but the light burned like hellfire. She shut them again, barely processing a figure crouched over her.
Her fingers touched those against her forehead. She couldn't formulate what had happened, only that she had fallen into the pool and was now somehow back on the pavement.
Her mouth formed words. "Who are you?" She whispered hoarsely.
This person didn't answer, and Jane thought for a moment they didn't intend to. She had almost slipped back into sleep when he answered.
"Gabriel. Gabriel Gray."
And then he was gone. Jane heard the screaming increase, and sirens wailing. She willed herself to stay awake.
"Oh, my God, Lizzie! I was so worried! Do you have any idea…" Sam ran across the patio and threw her arms around her lethargic friend.
"What's going on?" Jane muttered, opening her eyes to slits.
"Bobby, you know, who was doing to magic trick? He was murdered. Found in the bathroom with the top of his head taken completely off. Oh, it was horrible, Lizzie, absolutely horrible! Everyone is so scared. No one knows who did it…"
Sam went on. Jane started to shake as the emotion of everything that had happened hit her. That, and the cold air was doing nothing to help her wet body.
"God, Lizzie, did you go swimming?" Sam asked, running a hand over her friend's damp clothes.
"I passed out and fell in."
Sam's eyes widened even further. "Oh, my God, Lizzie, oh, my God! You could have died, too!"
"Someone saved me."
But Sam didn't hear her at all. The police had arrived. It was going to be a very long day.
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"I told my parents what had happened. They were always disturbed about what happened to Bobby, but so grateful I had lived. I told them your name. They tried to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal, but I knew they were frantic about it. They wanted to thank you." Scout had slumped down so only her head was propped against the shelf now. Her fingers were laced over her stomach. She stared at her shoes as she recounted her memories from that night.
It had been awful, but she was somehow thankful for it.
"They sent letters to every Gabriel Gray they could find within the United States. But they were never right. They even talked about it at night when they thought I was asleep."
Sylar looked at her curiously, listening to every word she said. This story, from her perspective, was quite interesting. He didn't even notice that the strength was slowly returning to his body. He was overdue for a tranquilizer drug.
Scout frowned. "They should have been mad. I lied to them about where I was going, got drunk at a party, and was at the scene of a murder. Somehow you saving me from drowning erased what I actually deserved."
"How did you know it was me from the second she said my name? I wasn't the only Gabriel Gray out there."
"I don't know. Maybe it was just the shock after hearing that name after all these years. And then everything else fell into place." Scout paused. "How did you know my name?"
"My 'heroic action' was on the news. The miracle amid the murder. I saw your interview."
"It was heroic. You saved me from drowning." Scout expected Sylar to reject what she had said, but he only looked at her with his dark eyes.
"You killed Bobby Goslin, didn't you? Stole his power?" Scout muttered.
Sylar half-smiled. "Thought you'd put one-and-one together sooner."
Scout sat upright, tucking her legs underneath her. "You're a murderer. A serial killer. So why did you save me?"
She stared into his eyes, waiting for them to betray what was going on inside his head. He was silent, but his eyes fell towards the ground.
"If I had known you had an ability, I would have killed you." Sylar suddenly noticed the return of strength. He flexed his hand indiscreetly. "What is your original ability, anyway?"
"Don't change the subject."
Sylar plotted escape in his mind. Should he kill her now? Or come back for her later, slowly wearing her down? These ideas which were previously so bright and vibrant to him now seemed duller. Plotting her death, the death of a girl who he'd pulled from a swimming pool only seconds after murdering her colleague, didn't gleam like it should have.
"Thank you," Scout whispered.
It caught him completely off guard. His train of thought disintegrated as he focused his attention on her, eyeing her incredulously.
"I never got to do so properly."
The shock must have been evident on his face, because Scout began to smirk. Sylar calmed himself, his calculative precise consciousness returning.
"You know, you looked like a real person right then," Scout remarked. Her tone was almost sad, and she couldn't help but feel somewhat sorry for the man across from her.
He looked curious, but not puzzled. Scout took this as an invitation to continue. "You shouldn't be so repulsed by your own humanity. You saved someone's life, so there must be some good somewhere inside of you. Why do you fight so hard to be a bad guy?"
His expression turned grave. "There is no turning back for me. Besides, killing is what makes me better. It's what makes me special. Why would I give that up?"
Scout stood up and turned away from him. "There is always a chance to turn back. Maybe it's about time you got to know Riley a little better."
Sylar's lips curled into a snarl. "I'm afraid there won't be any time for that."
With a tightening of his fist, Scout fell to the ground, clawing at her neck. Her throat had become completely cut off, and her mind focused only on survival. She forgot she had abilities at all, writhing on the ground with her face slowly reddening.
Sylar found watching her in weakness mildly amusing. Maybe he would choke her to death slowly, watch her twitch and convulse, teasing her by letting small amounts of air back into her body. There were so many different ways he wanted to kill her.
Tears squeezed out of her eyes. It made Sylar smile.
"Surprise," said a voice by Sylar's ear. He glanced back to see Riley leaning halfway out of the wall. He placed his fingers against Sylar's temple, and he lost consciousness once again.
Scout flopped onto her back, gulping down air. She sputtered and coughed. Riley emerged completely from the wall and ran to her side.
"He's seen all your abilities now," Scout coughed. "He knows exactly what he can get."
Riley smiled. "He doesn't have to know that, now, does he?" He scooped one arm underneath her body and lifted her into a sitting position. "Now, just calm down. I think you need a bit of a siesta."
Scout glanced at Sylar one last time before relaxing into Riley's hold.
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A/N: Whew! Hello again! This chapter was rather fun to write. Hopefully you liked this little twist. Things are really going to take off in the next chapter (which I've already written the first draft of, so it should be up in a couple of days) so get saddled up for some serious action and intrigue!
I owe my most sincere thanks to Shadeslayer 390, night-star-93, wsand, HermioneandMarcus, Neurotic Isopod, KaraxLavi13, and ENZIO for reviewing! Seriously, the reception after last chapter was really wonderful and overwhelming! It's why I wrote this chapter so quickly. Please keep reviewing! It makes me so happy and makes me want to keep writing.
Thanks for reading, again! See you next chapter! And remember, if you read this, please review! :) Peace out.