We all fear the unknown. That which we do not understand becomes a frightening force that we feel threatens our very existence. But what if the force is in fact what protects our existence, our salvation from a harsh and unloving world?
Chapter Two: Moonshadow
WALKER HOME
LOS ANGELES
"Linda, dear, you might want to sit down for this."
"James?" James Walker ushered his wife into their living room.
As James began to explain what was going on, Sylar knelt down and looked Molly directly in her eyes, "What would you say if I told you magic was real?"
Molly gave him a look, "I'd say you're crazy."
Sylar laughed softly to himself and stood up, headed for the kitchen. He flicked his fingers, and the cupboards opened. Dishes flew out and around the dining room. Linda gasped and grabbed Molly.
One of the drawers jerked open and pieces of silverware flew out, doing a loop through the stair railings before heading back into the kitchen. The plates landed on the table with a soft clang. Napkins came out of another drawer and neatly folded themselves around the silverware. They then deposited themselves next to the plates. Glasses came out of another cupboard and landed next to the plates. As a final touch, the chairs were all pulled out from the table at once, squeaking against the stone tile floors.
Sylar turned around to face the group, smiling. "Is anyone hungry?"
PETER PETRELLI
NEW YORK
Peter rode the subway home, alone. He stared blankly at Activating Evolution, holding the book in one hand and hanging on to one of the overhead straps in the other. He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice when the light in the car slowly dimmed and the sounds of the people ceased. When he did, he dropped the book with a start.
"What the hell?!" he gasped, gently touching one of the passengers ahead of him. The man wobbled as if he was a statue, and almost fell over.
Peter began to panic, and ran to the end of the car. He banged on the window out of frustration. Hyperventilating, he rested his head on the window.
Something rustled behind him.
He spun around and found himself facing a solemn Asian man dressed in black. He had a sword slung over his shoulder.
"Peter Petrelli," he whispered.
"What?" Peter gaped at the man, "Are you doing this?"
"I'm sorry if I scared you," he said, taking a step forward. He smiled, "You look different with that hair."
"I don't know you, buddy!"
"Not yet," He stepped forward, "My name is Hiro Nakamura. I'm from the future. I have a message for you. I don't have much time. I'm risking a rift just by coming here. The man—you have to save him."
"What man?"
"The salesman. In the horn-rimmed glasses. And his family. The breeder, the cheerleader, the son. You MUST save them. It's the only way to prevent it."
"Prevent what?"
Hiro hung his head slightly, "Everything. Listen to me! He must live. His family must be safe. The painter, Isaac. Go to him! He will know. When I call you, you MUST tell me when we meet!"
Hiro smiled again, "You told me many times how lost you felt, before it all started." He leaned in to whisper, "THIS is what you've been waiting for. Be the one we need."
He turned around and began walking away. Peter followed him, "Wait! Hiro, I don't understand!"
Hiro began running, "Save the salesman, save the world!!"
"Wait! I don't understand!" Peter felt the subway lurch as time resumed and light came back in. He shouted, "Hiro! Where are you?! Hiro!"
He began to hyperventilate. He bent down and picked up the book, clutching it tightly to his chest, "Salesman?"
"That went very well."
Chandra shook his head as he walked down the Walkers's front steps, "You didn't have to scare Mrs. Walker with that TK show. Was that really necessary?"
"Yes."
Chandra tried to read him, but Sylar was as impassive as ever. Chandra shook his head and opened the door to the car.
"It's better that she knows," Sylar said, taking his seat, "Perhaps their daughter—"
"Molly," Chandra said, turning around to back out the driveway.
"Yes, her. She'll be more open to telling her parents about any abilities that she'll develop."
Chandra shrugged and turned down the street, "I still think it was a bit much, Gabriel."
Fifteen minutes later, they were driving around the dense streets of the city.
Sylar shook his head, "This must be the third time we've been past that convenience store."
Chandra sighed, "We need to ask someone." Spotting a police car, he pulled up alongside it. Sylar rolled down his window.
"Excuse me, officer…" he glanced at his nametag, "Parkman?"
"Yes?"
"Could you tell me how to get to…" he looked at the map, "Sepple-Veeda?"
"It's pronounced 'Sep-uhl-vuh-duh'," he muttered. Turning around, he said, "Go down this street another three blocks and turn right. You'll hit it eventually."
"Thank you." Sylar said.
ISAAC MENDEZ
MANHATTAN
Isaac awoke on the floor with a start. He was ringed with paintings.
One, a small hatchback exploding. Another, a man with a shaggy beard and a woman in leather talking in a small cabin. Then, the same man and woman rifling through a desk.
There was also large painting of a family in a van. There were two children, indistinct but clearly a boy and a girl. The father, a man in horn-rimmed glasses, was escorting the mother out of the car. She was wrapped in a shawl and slightly hunched over.
The final painting was tall and unfinished. The shaggy, bearded man was pointing a gun at something in the direction of the bottom of the painting. The girl was waving her arms wildly behind him, clearly terrified.
Isaac glanced at the mural on the floor and then at the unfinished one. His jaw quivered.
What the hell was this? he wondered.