sam_storyteller (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:39 am
sam_storyteller) wrote2005-07-14 12:39 am
Entry tags:
The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Nine
Title: The Hiatus Continuations, Chapter Nine: Empire State
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Paintings for Bennett, skills for Parkman, drugs for Ted, revenge for the Haitian, a field trip for Micah, an interview for Nathan, and first aid for Jack.
Notes: The lyrics Jack quotes are from Bobbie Gentry's song "Reunion". Thanks and credit to Utility Knife for Isaac's painting; if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 4.2.07
***
MATT, BENNETT, AND ISAAC - ISAAC'S STUDIO
Isaac had passed out on the bed after the third canvas, and Bennett had disgustedly left him to snore off his high while he and Parkman tried to make sense of the paintings.
They were darker than the ones that Isaac had painted while he was in Texas, which themselves had been darker than the ones he was painting when he first discovered his gift. Those early ones had an almost serene quality to them, odd considering how much heroin must have been in his system at the time. Bennett sat on one of Isaac's stools while Parkman prowled back and forth around the edge of the mural, still anxious about stepping on it.
The first painting was clearly the third in the sequence, timewise, and Bennett saw that the closer Isaac came to the end of his high, the closer he came in time to the present. He felt the urge to report on this, to research it, but now Primatech's resources were closed to him, and there was nobody to take his reports.
It occurred to him that if he could find Claude and Claire, if he could rally Isaac back and get hold of the Petrelli brothers, if he had a little money and some breathing room, he could form his own company. A rival company -- different from Primatech, better, with the benefit of his own experience. Mohinder Suresh had his father's drive and genius, even if he was young and impulsive, and if he had enough time Bennett was sure he could recruit him. He could have his job back, in a way, and more.
But his wife was dead, and his son, his own genetic legacy to the world, was dead. This would not be his old life reimagined; a new life, a different and difficult life. The lines of this new life were already sharper and harder -- he was procurer for a junkie, his partner was naive to the point of absurdity, and his first mission was to find a man he'd shot seven years ago and convince that man to give him his daughter back.
He turned back to the paintings. They read like the page of a comic book, two square canvases and one oblong that fitted in below it. The first showed the facade of a building, with a blonde girl -- Claire, please let that be Claire -- standing at a high-up window. The building had a number but there was no street name, and it looked like any one of a thousand buildings in the city.
The second was definitely Claire -- he recognised her backpack, though her face was turned away. She was standing in front of a wall covered in old, torn-up posters, looking upwards.
He looked down at the third in the sequence, the first one Isaac had painted, and frowned. He'd been puzzling over it since Isaac had set it aside and moved on.
"Hey," Parkman said suddenly.
"What?" Bennett asked, not looking away from the painting.
"People are coming."
Bennett glanced at him. "Here?"
"I think so. At least two, because I'm hearing Japanese and English together."
Japanese could mean Nakamura. Shit.
Bennett held his finger to his lips and gestured Parkman forward, backing them both into a dark corner, between two huge racks of paintings. They were invisible here, but not unfindable; Bennett covered Parkman's mouth with one hand and looked him in the eye.
Think about disappearing, he said, silencing his own breathing. Try to vanish. Clear your mind. Cover everything with a blanket, a dampening blanket --
Like the Haitian, Parkman said. Bennett nodded. Parkman closed his eyes and screwed up his face in concentration.
Relax, Bennett said. The more you try, the harder it is.
Parkman drew a deep breath behind Bennett's hand, and his shoulders fell an inch. His face smoothed, slowly. Bennett had no idea if it was working or not, but it was all they had.
He made a note to himself to acquire a gun as soon as possible, if they survived the next ten minutes.
There was a knock, and then the door to Isaac's loft opened and he heard footsteps. To his surprise, the first voice he heard was young, a teenager's voice.
"Hey, this is awesome!" the boy said. Footsteps on the stairs. Bennett tried to think invisible. "Dig this art!"
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
ANDO, HIRO, AND JACK - LOWER MANHATTAN
"So who is this dude?" Jack said, leaning forward between the Versa's two front seats. He tilted his head to get a better view of the building they were parked in front of.
"Mr. Isaac," Hiro said. "He paints the future. He showed us you were coming."
"Yeah?"
"He painted the Versa, with you in it," Ando told him. "He can help us find the girl."
"But..." Hiro paused, almost tantalisingly.
"Is he like, horribly disfigured or something?" Jack asked, then realised perhaps he should modulate the gleeful fascination in his voice.
"No, just cranky," Hiro said.
"Crazy," Ando corrected.
"He's an artist, I kinda took that as a given," Jack said, climbing out of the Versa. He could feel Mr. Isaac, distantly, like an itch on the edge of his vision. He knew that didn't make sense, but neither did a high-school senior who could make a living finding money other people had lost.
"We will introduce you," Ando said, but Jack noticed that both men stood subtly behind him as they walked into the building and took the elevator up to the loft.
Something else tugged on his senses briefly as they walked down the hallway, but his excitement and the overwhelming sense of Mr. Isaac drove it out of his mind. Hiro gestured to a door and Jack knocked; when there was no answer, Ando tried the handle. The door swung open.
"Hey, this is awesome!" Jack said, taking in the carts and worktables covered in paint, the canvases, the easels, the brushes in jars. "Dig this art!"
"Maybe Mr. Isaac is out," Hiro said. He sounded kind of hopeful.
"No, he's over there," Jack said, jerking his head at the bed in a corner of the loft. He didn't bother looking; he knew the bed was there, and so was Isaac. This close, he understood that Mr. Isaac was actually Isaac Mendez, and that there was something wrong in his body, something you shouldn't find there.
Time enough for that later, though. Jack hardly even had eyes for the enormous mural on the floor, beginning to be worn down by feet and blotched by spilled paint. His attention was focused on the paintings on easels nearby. So many paintings, in fact, racks and racks of them.
"This is her," he breathed, pointing to one of the ones hanging on a giant rack on the wall. It was a girl's face, hair flying around it, panicked but still beautiful. "This is the girl I'm supposed to find."
"This girl?" Hiro asked, pointing to another painting. Yes, that was her too, though he couldn't see her face. Definitely her.
"Yeah, that girl -- " Jack paused. Next to the painting was an enormous canvas, the scene of a murder. A man stood over a girl in a cheerleader's uniform, blood pooling around her head, her limbs askew. He glanced at Hiro, who had a look of tremendous sadness on his face.
"But that's not her," Jack said suddenly. He pointed to the dead girl in the painting. "That happened, but that's not her. That's like, another girl. Not the one I'm looking for."
"She is cheerleader," Hiro said. "In Texas. We saved her. Peter Petrelli saved her. We did not save that one," he added, pointing to the dead girl.
"I'm sorry," Jack said. He turned back to a trio of paintings that hardly looked dry yet. "This is her too. See, here, in the window. Did he know we were coming, your painter dude?"
"No," Ando replied. He had taken up a position far away from Jack and Hiro, near the sleeping Isaac. "Hiro, this is very bad," he added, holding up a hypodermic syringe.
"But -- " Hiro frowned. "He paints without the drugs!"
"Guess not," Jack said softly.
"Do these paintings help?" Hiro asked.
"Yeah, sort of -- I know what building to look for now," Jack said. "I can find it, I think. Not from here..." he squinted. "She's still there. In this one. She's not here yet," he said, pointing to the second painting.
"This is Unmei," Hiro said.
"Unmei?" Jack asked.
"Destiny."
"Unmei. I like that," Jack said. He crouched in front of the third painting. It showed him -- yeah, that was him, very cool -- standing with the girl, holding her hand, looking through a window. No, a glass observation wall, into a hospital room. Nearby he saw a dark-haired man he recognised from his vision -- that was the angel, the one he saw sitting with his girl. The figure on the bed could have been a man or a woman. The shadows in the dark room made it uncertain; all Jack could make out was a swath of bandages and a face in shadow.
"That is Peter Petrelli," Hiro said, pointing to the angel.
"I'd like to meet him," Jack murmured, standing and dusting off his jeans. "Listen, um, I don't think we need to wake the dude up, do you?"
"Can you find her from this?" Hiro asked. "In Texas?"
"She's not in Texas anymore. She's definitely here," Jack said. "And if she's here I can find her." He laughed a little. "My momma didn't raise no fool, I can do anything if I've got the right tools..."
Hiro gave him a perplexed look.
"I just need to get a fix on that building," Jack mused.
"How?" Ando asked. Jack thought hard about it, then grinned.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we're going to the Empire State Building."
***
MATT AND MR. BENNETT - ISAAC'S STUDIO
"It worked," Matt said excitedly after the trio of men had left. "It worked, didn't it? I hid us, didn't I?"
"I think so," Bennett said, pushing past him and back out into the studio. "The boy's a Sector, and he didn't know we were here."
"A what?" Matt asked, confused.
"It's the technical term. He's a Finder, he finds things. Somehow they know where things are."
"What kind of things?"
"Everything," Bennett replied. "They know where everything is. They find what's lost. I've known two. They're pretty useful, when they don't go insane."
"Insane?" Matt asked. He had seriously considered the idea that someday what he did would make him crazy, but the idea that other people had already gone insane from their talents...that was deeply scary.
"We had one who worked for the company for years, finding people," Bennett said. "She wasn't very strong, it was hit-and-miss, but give her ten newspapers a day and two pots of coffee and she was pretty happy, looking for them. Then one day she shot herself."
"Why?"
"Apparently she found something she didn't like."
"That's not funny," Matt said, horrified.
"I'm not laughing," Bennett replied, searching the countertops of Isaac's studio for something. "People like you, people like that boy, learn things that nobody's ever supposed to know. Humanity thinks it wants knowledge but what it really wants is the safe parts, with the scary horror-movie scenes edited out. It doesn't want to find the dark little crevices of the human mind."
Matt thought about Janice, and how panicked she'd been when she thought he'd found out about the affair. What if it had turned out that she really didn't love him, instead of him discovering that she still did? He might have killed her. He'd seen too many domestic spats gone bad to think he was above it.
"My job is to make sure those hidden places stay hidden," Bennett said.
"Was," Matt reminded him. Bennett frowned.
"Was," he said softly. "Of course."
He finally found what he was looking for -- a digital camera -- and he began snapping photos of the paintings around the room.
"You said you knew two of them," Matt said. "Two Finders. What happened to the other one?"
"Are you familiar with the term 'hoarder'?" Bennett asked.
"Yeah -- people who can't stop collecting stuff. Bags of bottlecaps, piles of magazines. So what?"
"Finders naturally think that if they've found it, it must be important. They start to collect what they've found, just in case. It piles up, fills up bags, boxes, rooms..." Bennett tucked the camera in his pocket. "It's easy to lose control. I'm sure you know that. When we found him, he was living in the ten square feet of kitchen space that wasn't filled with everything he'd found. It took one of our cleaner teams two weeks to empty his house."
"What happened to him?"
A muscle jumped in Bennett's jaw. "we're done here. We'd better find a place to sleep tonight. In the morning we're going to let that boy lead us straight to Claire."
***
TED SPRAGUE AND HANA GITELMAN - UPSTATE NEW YORK
Ted woke to the sensation of something cool and damp on his face. It felt good, and he leaned into it as it rubbed his cheeks. Someone chuckled, somewhere in the distance. Perhaps it was some kind of giant cat, licking him...
"Good evening, Ted," said a voice, and he opened his eyes. He recognised the woman standing in front of him, but he couldn't place her name. Everything seemed very distant and bright.
"Hi," he said, and his tongue felt unfamiliar in his mouth. "Where am I?"
"Outside of Buffalo," she replied, dipping a washcloth into a bucket of water and wringing it out. Oh, so that was what was on his face. He closed his eyes as she smoothed it down one cheek. "I've dosed you with Ketamine," she continued. "That's why you feel drugged. You are."
"Oh," he said.
"Your power is linked to your emotions," she continued. "The Ketamine helps you separate what you think and feel from what your body does. Little trick I picked up from the company's databases."
"The company," he repeated. He got a distant stab of rage, but he couldn't be bothered to actually feel it.
"I waited for days to get in and bring you out. Parkman's already gone," she said. "He's covered his tracks pretty well. I don't know where he is."
"Where are we?"
"You've already asked," she said. "Outside of Buffalo."
"Oh." He thought hard. "Why did you save me?"
"Nobody deserves to spend their life asleep on a slab," she replied. "Besides, I can still use you."
***
THE HAITIAN - OAXACA, MEXICO
It took him some time, but he finally tracked her; the further south you went, the fewer white people there were, and a pretty blonde woman stood out like a sore thumb, even if she knew the area and its customs. He had determination on his side; this was a request of Claire's grandmother, and the Haitian had a deep respect for that woman.
He had, in one way or another, known Claire since she was an infant. His first visit to the Bennett house had been to minister to Mr. Bennett's wife, and after that was done he had paused in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot.
"Thank you," Bennett had told him. "I appreciate this deeply. Is there anything else you need?"
You could say many unflattering things about Bennett, but you could say many unflattering things about anyone. The Haitian was still impressed that, like the professor, Bennett treated him like a man.
He pointed in the direction of the nursery, and turned his hands up questioningly. Bennett frowned.
"My daughter?" he'd asked. When he got a nod in reply, his frown deepened. "What about her? You want to see her?"
The Haitian held his hands behind his back, and the frown lessened.
"You'd like to meet Claire," he'd said, smiling. "That's all. Of course."
In another few years, Claude would vanish into thin air, for all most of Primatech knew, and the Haitian would step into his shoes. From that hour on he heard about Claire and Lyle all the time, but Bennett was not making the mistake with the Haitian that he'd made with his previous partner. He never met Bennett's family, except to minister to Mrs. Bennett. Until Claire was sixteen, she was mostly a concept and the memory of a pretty, wispy-haired infant sleeping thumb-in-mouth in a sunny nursery.
However terrible a man Bennett was, he'd been a good father, and Mrs. Bennett a good mother. This woman, who left her baby to die in a fire, who had stolen money from her own blood, did not deserve to be a mother.
He had come to the decision, his first few years in America, that he would not be anyone's pawn. In this game, the best way to do that was to allow them to think that you were. Bennett thought he was a good partner, Primatech a good employee, Mrs. Petrelli a loyal servant, Claire a protector. And he was those things. At times.
But he had also come to be his own judge of what was right, and that was why Claire still remembered things she shouldn't, why he was here and not still employed by Primatech. And he knew that Meredith Gordon could not be allowed to trouble Claire any further.
He looked down at her, lying on the hotel bed, drugged and sleeping. This would take time, but she wouldn't wake for hours, so time he had. He would leave her a fair share of the money, so that she wouldn't be totally destitute; what had she offered Claire, half of fifty thousand dollars? That ought to suffice.
In the meantime, he placed his hand over her forehead and began to work.
He would have to start with the pregnancy...
***
JESSICA, DL, AND MICAH - THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING
Micah had brought his laptop with him to New York, and after Jessica came home that night he asked if she was going to come with them to the Empire State Building the next day.
"You don't have class on Saturdays, do you?" he'd asked plaintively. Jessica was not the most maternal of women, but Micah was her son and really, she was doing this all for him. And he was pretty hard to resist when he gave her puppy eyes.
"Of course, sweetie," she said. "Let's go early, okay? We'll skip the big lines."
"I'll get the tickets!" Micah said excitedly, and ten minutes later his laptop was emailing the Kinkos across the street to print out tickets. She definitely had to figure out a way to get Micah's powers under her direct control.
So here they stood, Jessica drinking a coffee to stay awake, DL and Micah arguing about whether or not a penny thrown from the observatory would kill someone if it hit them in the head, and a crowd of other people all ooh-ing and aaah-ing over the view of the city. A gaggle of kids with their mom, two Japanese tourists with some guy who was probably their interpreter, a tour group of seniors, a middle-aged businessman who probably worked on some lower floor of the building.
Maybe they should move to New York. DL could get a better job, and she could definitely find gainful employment. She'd talk to Linderman about it. Maybe he was looking to expand his east coast influence past one future congressman.
Today Nathan was supposed to make his big Union speech. She wanted to see that, somehow; perhaps she could convince DL to get lunch somewhere that had a television in the bar.
The world was just full of possibilities, horizons as wide as the view from the top, and only Niki was standing in her way.
***
NATHAN PETRELLI - HELLO! MANHATTAN STUDIOS - MANHATTAN
"AND WE'RE BACK IN FIVE, FOUR," three, two, one...
"Welcome back to Hello! Manhattan, coming to you live from our studios in the Empire State Building. I'm Emma Andrews, and I'm talking today with Nathan Petrelli, congressional candidate here in New York City," said the anchor, who had told him to call her Emma. Nathan smiled and nodded at the camera. "Now, Mr. Petrelli, we've talked a little bit about politics and a little bit about the state of New York City as it stands. But I'd like to ask you a little bit about your family as well."
Aw, crap. He knew it was coming, knew it had to have been coming, but he was hoping to distract her somehow.
"You've spoken out recently on the topic of mental illness, because your father suffered from it all his life," she said, looking deeply sympathetic. "I understand that your brother has recently been having difficulties as well?"
At least it wasn't about Heidi.
"Peter's a good kid," Nathan said with a grin. "You know, when you run for political office, you don't run alone -- you bring your family and your friends with you. I won't lie, it's a stressful time. We all cope with that in different ways."
"But your brother -- "
"Is thriving," he cut her off, trying not to be sharp about it. "He's spending time with family, and recuperating from a fairly serious bout with the flu."
"Do you think all this has distracted you from your campaign?"
Nathan laughed. "I don't think of my family as a distraction from politics, that's pretty ruthless. They're right there with me, supporting me. I can care about my city and my family at the same time -- one's really an extension of the other."
"A lovely sentiment," she agreed, smiling. Her eyes darted to his lapel, and he tried not to grin. Here it came...
"I have one more question before we let you go," she said, leaning forward. "I've been dying to ask this all morning, but what's that pin on your lapel?"
Nathan looked down. "What, this?"
He tilted his body slightly so that the camera could get a better view of the little enameled American flag, with the Superman pin right below it.
"Is that a Superman symbol I see?" she laughed. "Are you a comic-book fan, Mr. Petrelli? That's one way to get younger voters to fall in line!"
"There are many reasons to support the Petrelli campaign," Nathan said. "I wouldn't think a Superman pin on its own would convince our smart young voters. This is actually a gift from one of my volunteers."
"Really! They must think you're something very special."
"You know," Nathan said, relishing the moment, "you can't get anywhere in politics without people, and my volunteers are especially important to me. They're so passionate about what we can accomplish. I guess they believe I'm the man for the job."
"That's wonderful," said Emma. "So, Nathan "Superman" Petrelli, what can we expect from you from here on out?"
"Well, you'll be seeing a lot of me in the next three days, right up until the election," Nathan said with a grin. "I'll be speaking at noon today, at a rally near here, actually, and I hope everyone can tune in for at least a few minutes. We'll also have a live streaming radio broadcast, and podcast available once the rally ends..."
***
JACK, ANDO, AND HIRO - THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING
Jack's head began to buzz unpleasantly almost as soon as they reached the observatory at the top of the Empire State Building. He looked around at the other people on the deck, but they all seemed innocent enough. He could feel their wants and needs, but in a muffled sort of way, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer masses of people down below in the city.
He stood as close as he could to the edge of the observation deck, scanning the city, trying to focus on the building he'd seen in the painting yesterday. They were stripped of any assistance, up here; Hiro'd had to leave his sword behind, since there were security checkpoints that definitely did not allow antique katanas through their gates. Jack left his weed behind for the same reason, despite the fact that he was not entirely comfortable with heights and could really use a smoke right about now. Even a cigarette would be okay.
"Scuse me," he said to the businessman in the groovy retro glasses who was standing nearby. "Can I bum a smoke?"
The man looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Sorry, I don't smoke."
"It's cool," Jack said. "Thanks anyway."
The fascist assholes who ran things probably didn't let you smoke up here anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind again.
Southwest. Not very far, even. Southwest --
Claire.
The word was so sharp in his head that he knew he didn't think it himself. His eyes flew open and he turned around, expecting someone behind him, whispering in his ear. Nope; just the couple with their adorable little kid (who reminded him of the twins) and near them, the businessman. Further off were a few tour groups, but they were just a dim white noise at the edge of his senses.
He wished all these people would leave, it would be so much easier. He also wished the janitorial staff would clean more thoroughly, because there were like eight million camera lenscaps and coins and crumpled up tickets and pens and --
He clutched his head, doubling over, and Ando and Hiro were there immediately, holding his shoulders, asking if he was okay.
"I'm all right, I'm cool," he managed, as a group of senior citizens began to drift over to see what the fuss was. Jesus, he needed a smoke. "Tell them to leave me alone."
"You! He is fine! All of you, give him air!" Ando shouted, and while Jack appreciated the thought, every word was like a nail in his brain. He moaned and collapsed, actually grateful for the cool ground beneath his cheek, even if it was totally disgusting.
Southwest, Greenwich Village. Right right leftleft rightleftleft parking garage watch out he's following you...
Jack passed out.
Hiro and Ando said later how nice it was of the businessman to call for help and make sure everyone else stayed away while they got Jack onto a stretcher and took him to the medical station. It wasn't serious; Jack told the EMTs that he hadn't eaten any breakfast and it was probably just low blood sugar, which they bought because it made their job easier and it meant they could get him an OJ, patch up the scratches on his cheek, and send him off.
Such a nice businessman. And he wouldn't accept any money or even tell them who he was.
Next time, on Heroes ("Hirou"):
"Leave it to me. I know what to do." "What's that?" "Kill them all."
"He's traveling with two Japanese men -- they might be from a branch of Primatech in Japan. I didn't get their names."
"It is groovy," Hiro said. "I freeze time."
"So you had a fight with your wife. I'm talking about not letting dangerous people like Ted Sprague loose on society to kill their wives."
He was pretty impressed by how still Jack was holding -- he didn't even grunt or twitch -- until he looked up and saw him staring at the ceiling, eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was in some kind of trance.
"They're winding down now. When they start calling each other names, it'll end soon."
"Me?" Claude asked, shoving Peter backwards when he came too close. "You want me to stay away from her? I was reading her bedtime stories when you were still in short-pants, Peter Pan."
Chapter Ten
Rating: PG-13 for language and violence
Summary: Paintings for Bennett, skills for Parkman, drugs for Ted, revenge for the Haitian, a field trip for Micah, an interview for Nathan, and first aid for Jack.
Notes: The lyrics Jack quotes are from Bobbie Gentry's song "Reunion". Thanks and credit to Utility Knife for Isaac's painting; if you'd like to give feedback on the art, the address to send to is utility.knife@gmail.com.
Originally posted 4.2.07
***
MATT, BENNETT, AND ISAAC - ISAAC'S STUDIO
Isaac had passed out on the bed after the third canvas, and Bennett had disgustedly left him to snore off his high while he and Parkman tried to make sense of the paintings.
They were darker than the ones that Isaac had painted while he was in Texas, which themselves had been darker than the ones he was painting when he first discovered his gift. Those early ones had an almost serene quality to them, odd considering how much heroin must have been in his system at the time. Bennett sat on one of Isaac's stools while Parkman prowled back and forth around the edge of the mural, still anxious about stepping on it.
The first painting was clearly the third in the sequence, timewise, and Bennett saw that the closer Isaac came to the end of his high, the closer he came in time to the present. He felt the urge to report on this, to research it, but now Primatech's resources were closed to him, and there was nobody to take his reports.
It occurred to him that if he could find Claude and Claire, if he could rally Isaac back and get hold of the Petrelli brothers, if he had a little money and some breathing room, he could form his own company. A rival company -- different from Primatech, better, with the benefit of his own experience. Mohinder Suresh had his father's drive and genius, even if he was young and impulsive, and if he had enough time Bennett was sure he could recruit him. He could have his job back, in a way, and more.
But his wife was dead, and his son, his own genetic legacy to the world, was dead. This would not be his old life reimagined; a new life, a different and difficult life. The lines of this new life were already sharper and harder -- he was procurer for a junkie, his partner was naive to the point of absurdity, and his first mission was to find a man he'd shot seven years ago and convince that man to give him his daughter back.
He turned back to the paintings. They read like the page of a comic book, two square canvases and one oblong that fitted in below it. The first showed the facade of a building, with a blonde girl -- Claire, please let that be Claire -- standing at a high-up window. The building had a number but there was no street name, and it looked like any one of a thousand buildings in the city.
The second was definitely Claire -- he recognised her backpack, though her face was turned away. She was standing in front of a wall covered in old, torn-up posters, looking upwards.
He looked down at the third in the sequence, the first one Isaac had painted, and frowned. He'd been puzzling over it since Isaac had set it aside and moved on.
"Hey," Parkman said suddenly.
"What?" Bennett asked, not looking away from the painting.
"People are coming."
Bennett glanced at him. "Here?"
"I think so. At least two, because I'm hearing Japanese and English together."
Japanese could mean Nakamura. Shit.
Bennett held his finger to his lips and gestured Parkman forward, backing them both into a dark corner, between two huge racks of paintings. They were invisible here, but not unfindable; Bennett covered Parkman's mouth with one hand and looked him in the eye.
Think about disappearing, he said, silencing his own breathing. Try to vanish. Clear your mind. Cover everything with a blanket, a dampening blanket --
Like the Haitian, Parkman said. Bennett nodded. Parkman closed his eyes and screwed up his face in concentration.
Relax, Bennett said. The more you try, the harder it is.
Parkman drew a deep breath behind Bennett's hand, and his shoulders fell an inch. His face smoothed, slowly. Bennett had no idea if it was working or not, but it was all they had.
He made a note to himself to acquire a gun as soon as possible, if they survived the next ten minutes.
There was a knock, and then the door to Isaac's loft opened and he heard footsteps. To his surprise, the first voice he heard was young, a teenager's voice.
"Hey, this is awesome!" the boy said. Footsteps on the stairs. Bennett tried to think invisible. "Dig this art!"
***
ISAAC MENDEZ - LOWER MANHATTAN
***
ANDO, HIRO, AND JACK - LOWER MANHATTAN
"So who is this dude?" Jack said, leaning forward between the Versa's two front seats. He tilted his head to get a better view of the building they were parked in front of.
"Mr. Isaac," Hiro said. "He paints the future. He showed us you were coming."
"Yeah?"
"He painted the Versa, with you in it," Ando told him. "He can help us find the girl."
"But..." Hiro paused, almost tantalisingly.
"Is he like, horribly disfigured or something?" Jack asked, then realised perhaps he should modulate the gleeful fascination in his voice.
"No, just cranky," Hiro said.
"Crazy," Ando corrected.
"He's an artist, I kinda took that as a given," Jack said, climbing out of the Versa. He could feel Mr. Isaac, distantly, like an itch on the edge of his vision. He knew that didn't make sense, but neither did a high-school senior who could make a living finding money other people had lost.
"We will introduce you," Ando said, but Jack noticed that both men stood subtly behind him as they walked into the building and took the elevator up to the loft.
Something else tugged on his senses briefly as they walked down the hallway, but his excitement and the overwhelming sense of Mr. Isaac drove it out of his mind. Hiro gestured to a door and Jack knocked; when there was no answer, Ando tried the handle. The door swung open.
"Hey, this is awesome!" Jack said, taking in the carts and worktables covered in paint, the canvases, the easels, the brushes in jars. "Dig this art!"
"Maybe Mr. Isaac is out," Hiro said. He sounded kind of hopeful.
"No, he's over there," Jack said, jerking his head at the bed in a corner of the loft. He didn't bother looking; he knew the bed was there, and so was Isaac. This close, he understood that Mr. Isaac was actually Isaac Mendez, and that there was something wrong in his body, something you shouldn't find there.
Time enough for that later, though. Jack hardly even had eyes for the enormous mural on the floor, beginning to be worn down by feet and blotched by spilled paint. His attention was focused on the paintings on easels nearby. So many paintings, in fact, racks and racks of them.
"This is her," he breathed, pointing to one of the ones hanging on a giant rack on the wall. It was a girl's face, hair flying around it, panicked but still beautiful. "This is the girl I'm supposed to find."
"This girl?" Hiro asked, pointing to another painting. Yes, that was her too, though he couldn't see her face. Definitely her.
"Yeah, that girl -- " Jack paused. Next to the painting was an enormous canvas, the scene of a murder. A man stood over a girl in a cheerleader's uniform, blood pooling around her head, her limbs askew. He glanced at Hiro, who had a look of tremendous sadness on his face.
"But that's not her," Jack said suddenly. He pointed to the dead girl in the painting. "That happened, but that's not her. That's like, another girl. Not the one I'm looking for."
"She is cheerleader," Hiro said. "In Texas. We saved her. Peter Petrelli saved her. We did not save that one," he added, pointing to the dead girl.
"I'm sorry," Jack said. He turned back to a trio of paintings that hardly looked dry yet. "This is her too. See, here, in the window. Did he know we were coming, your painter dude?"
"No," Ando replied. He had taken up a position far away from Jack and Hiro, near the sleeping Isaac. "Hiro, this is very bad," he added, holding up a hypodermic syringe.
"But -- " Hiro frowned. "He paints without the drugs!"
"Guess not," Jack said softly.
"Do these paintings help?" Hiro asked.
"Yeah, sort of -- I know what building to look for now," Jack said. "I can find it, I think. Not from here..." he squinted. "She's still there. In this one. She's not here yet," he said, pointing to the second painting.
"This is Unmei," Hiro said.
"Unmei?" Jack asked.
"Destiny."
"Unmei. I like that," Jack said. He crouched in front of the third painting. It showed him -- yeah, that was him, very cool -- standing with the girl, holding her hand, looking through a window. No, a glass observation wall, into a hospital room. Nearby he saw a dark-haired man he recognised from his vision -- that was the angel, the one he saw sitting with his girl. The figure on the bed could have been a man or a woman. The shadows in the dark room made it uncertain; all Jack could make out was a swath of bandages and a face in shadow.
"That is Peter Petrelli," Hiro said, pointing to the angel.
"I'd like to meet him," Jack murmured, standing and dusting off his jeans. "Listen, um, I don't think we need to wake the dude up, do you?"
"Can you find her from this?" Hiro asked. "In Texas?"
"She's not in Texas anymore. She's definitely here," Jack said. "And if she's here I can find her." He laughed a little. "My momma didn't raise no fool, I can do anything if I've got the right tools..."
Hiro gave him a perplexed look.
"I just need to get a fix on that building," Jack mused.
"How?" Ando asked. Jack thought hard about it, then grinned.
"Tomorrow," he said, "we're going to the Empire State Building."
***
MATT AND MR. BENNETT - ISAAC'S STUDIO
"It worked," Matt said excitedly after the trio of men had left. "It worked, didn't it? I hid us, didn't I?"
"I think so," Bennett said, pushing past him and back out into the studio. "The boy's a Sector, and he didn't know we were here."
"A what?" Matt asked, confused.
"It's the technical term. He's a Finder, he finds things. Somehow they know where things are."
"What kind of things?"
"Everything," Bennett replied. "They know where everything is. They find what's lost. I've known two. They're pretty useful, when they don't go insane."
"Insane?" Matt asked. He had seriously considered the idea that someday what he did would make him crazy, but the idea that other people had already gone insane from their talents...that was deeply scary.
"We had one who worked for the company for years, finding people," Bennett said. "She wasn't very strong, it was hit-and-miss, but give her ten newspapers a day and two pots of coffee and she was pretty happy, looking for them. Then one day she shot herself."
"Why?"
"Apparently she found something she didn't like."
"That's not funny," Matt said, horrified.
"I'm not laughing," Bennett replied, searching the countertops of Isaac's studio for something. "People like you, people like that boy, learn things that nobody's ever supposed to know. Humanity thinks it wants knowledge but what it really wants is the safe parts, with the scary horror-movie scenes edited out. It doesn't want to find the dark little crevices of the human mind."
Matt thought about Janice, and how panicked she'd been when she thought he'd found out about the affair. What if it had turned out that she really didn't love him, instead of him discovering that she still did? He might have killed her. He'd seen too many domestic spats gone bad to think he was above it.
"My job is to make sure those hidden places stay hidden," Bennett said.
"Was," Matt reminded him. Bennett frowned.
"Was," he said softly. "Of course."
He finally found what he was looking for -- a digital camera -- and he began snapping photos of the paintings around the room.
"You said you knew two of them," Matt said. "Two Finders. What happened to the other one?"
"Are you familiar with the term 'hoarder'?" Bennett asked.
"Yeah -- people who can't stop collecting stuff. Bags of bottlecaps, piles of magazines. So what?"
"Finders naturally think that if they've found it, it must be important. They start to collect what they've found, just in case. It piles up, fills up bags, boxes, rooms..." Bennett tucked the camera in his pocket. "It's easy to lose control. I'm sure you know that. When we found him, he was living in the ten square feet of kitchen space that wasn't filled with everything he'd found. It took one of our cleaner teams two weeks to empty his house."
"What happened to him?"
A muscle jumped in Bennett's jaw. "we're done here. We'd better find a place to sleep tonight. In the morning we're going to let that boy lead us straight to Claire."
***
TED SPRAGUE AND HANA GITELMAN - UPSTATE NEW YORK
Ted woke to the sensation of something cool and damp on his face. It felt good, and he leaned into it as it rubbed his cheeks. Someone chuckled, somewhere in the distance. Perhaps it was some kind of giant cat, licking him...
"Good evening, Ted," said a voice, and he opened his eyes. He recognised the woman standing in front of him, but he couldn't place her name. Everything seemed very distant and bright.
"Hi," he said, and his tongue felt unfamiliar in his mouth. "Where am I?"
"Outside of Buffalo," she replied, dipping a washcloth into a bucket of water and wringing it out. Oh, so that was what was on his face. He closed his eyes as she smoothed it down one cheek. "I've dosed you with Ketamine," she continued. "That's why you feel drugged. You are."
"Oh," he said.
"Your power is linked to your emotions," she continued. "The Ketamine helps you separate what you think and feel from what your body does. Little trick I picked up from the company's databases."
"The company," he repeated. He got a distant stab of rage, but he couldn't be bothered to actually feel it.
"I waited for days to get in and bring you out. Parkman's already gone," she said. "He's covered his tracks pretty well. I don't know where he is."
"Where are we?"
"You've already asked," she said. "Outside of Buffalo."
"Oh." He thought hard. "Why did you save me?"
"Nobody deserves to spend their life asleep on a slab," she replied. "Besides, I can still use you."
***
THE HAITIAN - OAXACA, MEXICO
It took him some time, but he finally tracked her; the further south you went, the fewer white people there were, and a pretty blonde woman stood out like a sore thumb, even if she knew the area and its customs. He had determination on his side; this was a request of Claire's grandmother, and the Haitian had a deep respect for that woman.
He had, in one way or another, known Claire since she was an infant. His first visit to the Bennett house had been to minister to Mr. Bennett's wife, and after that was done he had paused in the hallway, shifting from foot to foot.
"Thank you," Bennett had told him. "I appreciate this deeply. Is there anything else you need?"
You could say many unflattering things about Bennett, but you could say many unflattering things about anyone. The Haitian was still impressed that, like the professor, Bennett treated him like a man.
He pointed in the direction of the nursery, and turned his hands up questioningly. Bennett frowned.
"My daughter?" he'd asked. When he got a nod in reply, his frown deepened. "What about her? You want to see her?"
The Haitian held his hands behind his back, and the frown lessened.
"You'd like to meet Claire," he'd said, smiling. "That's all. Of course."
In another few years, Claude would vanish into thin air, for all most of Primatech knew, and the Haitian would step into his shoes. From that hour on he heard about Claire and Lyle all the time, but Bennett was not making the mistake with the Haitian that he'd made with his previous partner. He never met Bennett's family, except to minister to Mrs. Bennett. Until Claire was sixteen, she was mostly a concept and the memory of a pretty, wispy-haired infant sleeping thumb-in-mouth in a sunny nursery.
However terrible a man Bennett was, he'd been a good father, and Mrs. Bennett a good mother. This woman, who left her baby to die in a fire, who had stolen money from her own blood, did not deserve to be a mother.
He had come to the decision, his first few years in America, that he would not be anyone's pawn. In this game, the best way to do that was to allow them to think that you were. Bennett thought he was a good partner, Primatech a good employee, Mrs. Petrelli a loyal servant, Claire a protector. And he was those things. At times.
But he had also come to be his own judge of what was right, and that was why Claire still remembered things she shouldn't, why he was here and not still employed by Primatech. And he knew that Meredith Gordon could not be allowed to trouble Claire any further.
He looked down at her, lying on the hotel bed, drugged and sleeping. This would take time, but she wouldn't wake for hours, so time he had. He would leave her a fair share of the money, so that she wouldn't be totally destitute; what had she offered Claire, half of fifty thousand dollars? That ought to suffice.
In the meantime, he placed his hand over her forehead and began to work.
He would have to start with the pregnancy...
***
JESSICA, DL, AND MICAH - THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING
Micah had brought his laptop with him to New York, and after Jessica came home that night he asked if she was going to come with them to the Empire State Building the next day.
"You don't have class on Saturdays, do you?" he'd asked plaintively. Jessica was not the most maternal of women, but Micah was her son and really, she was doing this all for him. And he was pretty hard to resist when he gave her puppy eyes.
"Of course, sweetie," she said. "Let's go early, okay? We'll skip the big lines."
"I'll get the tickets!" Micah said excitedly, and ten minutes later his laptop was emailing the Kinkos across the street to print out tickets. She definitely had to figure out a way to get Micah's powers under her direct control.
So here they stood, Jessica drinking a coffee to stay awake, DL and Micah arguing about whether or not a penny thrown from the observatory would kill someone if it hit them in the head, and a crowd of other people all ooh-ing and aaah-ing over the view of the city. A gaggle of kids with their mom, two Japanese tourists with some guy who was probably their interpreter, a tour group of seniors, a middle-aged businessman who probably worked on some lower floor of the building.
Maybe they should move to New York. DL could get a better job, and she could definitely find gainful employment. She'd talk to Linderman about it. Maybe he was looking to expand his east coast influence past one future congressman.
Today Nathan was supposed to make his big Union speech. She wanted to see that, somehow; perhaps she could convince DL to get lunch somewhere that had a television in the bar.
The world was just full of possibilities, horizons as wide as the view from the top, and only Niki was standing in her way.
***
NATHAN PETRELLI - HELLO! MANHATTAN STUDIOS - MANHATTAN
"AND WE'RE BACK IN FIVE, FOUR," three, two, one...
"Welcome back to Hello! Manhattan, coming to you live from our studios in the Empire State Building. I'm Emma Andrews, and I'm talking today with Nathan Petrelli, congressional candidate here in New York City," said the anchor, who had told him to call her Emma. Nathan smiled and nodded at the camera. "Now, Mr. Petrelli, we've talked a little bit about politics and a little bit about the state of New York City as it stands. But I'd like to ask you a little bit about your family as well."
Aw, crap. He knew it was coming, knew it had to have been coming, but he was hoping to distract her somehow.
"You've spoken out recently on the topic of mental illness, because your father suffered from it all his life," she said, looking deeply sympathetic. "I understand that your brother has recently been having difficulties as well?"
At least it wasn't about Heidi.
"Peter's a good kid," Nathan said with a grin. "You know, when you run for political office, you don't run alone -- you bring your family and your friends with you. I won't lie, it's a stressful time. We all cope with that in different ways."
"But your brother -- "
"Is thriving," he cut her off, trying not to be sharp about it. "He's spending time with family, and recuperating from a fairly serious bout with the flu."
"Do you think all this has distracted you from your campaign?"
Nathan laughed. "I don't think of my family as a distraction from politics, that's pretty ruthless. They're right there with me, supporting me. I can care about my city and my family at the same time -- one's really an extension of the other."
"A lovely sentiment," she agreed, smiling. Her eyes darted to his lapel, and he tried not to grin. Here it came...
"I have one more question before we let you go," she said, leaning forward. "I've been dying to ask this all morning, but what's that pin on your lapel?"
Nathan looked down. "What, this?"
He tilted his body slightly so that the camera could get a better view of the little enameled American flag, with the Superman pin right below it.
"Is that a Superman symbol I see?" she laughed. "Are you a comic-book fan, Mr. Petrelli? That's one way to get younger voters to fall in line!"
"There are many reasons to support the Petrelli campaign," Nathan said. "I wouldn't think a Superman pin on its own would convince our smart young voters. This is actually a gift from one of my volunteers."
"Really! They must think you're something very special."
"You know," Nathan said, relishing the moment, "you can't get anywhere in politics without people, and my volunteers are especially important to me. They're so passionate about what we can accomplish. I guess they believe I'm the man for the job."
"That's wonderful," said Emma. "So, Nathan "Superman" Petrelli, what can we expect from you from here on out?"
"Well, you'll be seeing a lot of me in the next three days, right up until the election," Nathan said with a grin. "I'll be speaking at noon today, at a rally near here, actually, and I hope everyone can tune in for at least a few minutes. We'll also have a live streaming radio broadcast, and podcast available once the rally ends..."
***
JACK, ANDO, AND HIRO - THE EMPIRE STATE BUILDING
Jack's head began to buzz unpleasantly almost as soon as they reached the observatory at the top of the Empire State Building. He looked around at the other people on the deck, but they all seemed innocent enough. He could feel their wants and needs, but in a muffled sort of way, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer masses of people down below in the city.
He stood as close as he could to the edge of the observation deck, scanning the city, trying to focus on the building he'd seen in the painting yesterday. They were stripped of any assistance, up here; Hiro'd had to leave his sword behind, since there were security checkpoints that definitely did not allow antique katanas through their gates. Jack left his weed behind for the same reason, despite the fact that he was not entirely comfortable with heights and could really use a smoke right about now. Even a cigarette would be okay.
"Scuse me," he said to the businessman in the groovy retro glasses who was standing nearby. "Can I bum a smoke?"
The man looked at him as if he'd lost his mind. "Sorry, I don't smoke."
"It's cool," Jack said. "Thanks anyway."
The fascist assholes who ran things probably didn't let you smoke up here anyway. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his mind again.
Southwest. Not very far, even. Southwest --
Claire.
The word was so sharp in his head that he knew he didn't think it himself. His eyes flew open and he turned around, expecting someone behind him, whispering in his ear. Nope; just the couple with their adorable little kid (who reminded him of the twins) and near them, the businessman. Further off were a few tour groups, but they were just a dim white noise at the edge of his senses.
He wished all these people would leave, it would be so much easier. He also wished the janitorial staff would clean more thoroughly, because there were like eight million camera lenscaps and coins and crumpled up tickets and pens and --
He clutched his head, doubling over, and Ando and Hiro were there immediately, holding his shoulders, asking if he was okay.
"I'm all right, I'm cool," he managed, as a group of senior citizens began to drift over to see what the fuss was. Jesus, he needed a smoke. "Tell them to leave me alone."
"You! He is fine! All of you, give him air!" Ando shouted, and while Jack appreciated the thought, every word was like a nail in his brain. He moaned and collapsed, actually grateful for the cool ground beneath his cheek, even if it was totally disgusting.
Southwest, Greenwich Village. Right right leftleft rightleftleft parking garage watch out he's following you...
Jack passed out.
Hiro and Ando said later how nice it was of the businessman to call for help and make sure everyone else stayed away while they got Jack onto a stretcher and took him to the medical station. It wasn't serious; Jack told the EMTs that he hadn't eaten any breakfast and it was probably just low blood sugar, which they bought because it made their job easier and it meant they could get him an OJ, patch up the scratches on his cheek, and send him off.
Such a nice businessman. And he wouldn't accept any money or even tell them who he was.
Next time, on Heroes ("Hirou"):
"Leave it to me. I know what to do." "What's that?" "Kill them all."
"He's traveling with two Japanese men -- they might be from a branch of Primatech in Japan. I didn't get their names."
"It is groovy," Hiro said. "I freeze time."
"So you had a fight with your wife. I'm talking about not letting dangerous people like Ted Sprague loose on society to kill their wives."
He was pretty impressed by how still Jack was holding -- he didn't even grunt or twitch -- until he looked up and saw him staring at the ceiling, eyes rolled back in his head. He looked like he was in some kind of trance.
"They're winding down now. When they start calling each other names, it'll end soon."
"Me?" Claude asked, shoving Peter backwards when he came too close. "You want me to stay away from her? I was reading her bedtime stories when you were still in short-pants, Peter Pan."
Chapter Ten
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That, especially the last clause, is so devastatingly sad. Congrats, you've managed to make this so human and sad and twisted and lovely and beautiful and I'm babbling now but that was just ... man.
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Who is Hana? I can't place her for the life of me...unless she's the shapeshifter lady?
I love the Haitian, especially your Haitian; I like that he has his own code of ethics, and that he is careful about presenting facets of it to each of his allies.
Ando and Hiro standing behind Jack made me grin.
The possible fates of Finders, especially the why of the woman, were eerily possible as well as profound.
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Cool. Thanks.
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And go Nathan, that bit of speechmaking really did go off without a hitch.
(Also, Niki and Jessica should just integrate already. They'll both be much happier for it.)
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I think that's the trick, really, not attaching too much significance to what you find. Or knowing the right significance. Pennies, hey, you only need a hundred of those before you have a dollar. But... crayons, pen caps, hair clips, easter eggs, pencils, notepads (never a notepad around when you need one), chapstick, clean diapers...
It's not that it's not all good useful stuff. It's just that if you're not looking for it, hanging on to it is just hoarding.
... However, a Finder could make a KILLING on eBay selling shortpacked toys. Find it retail, sell it at the (usually ridiculously inflated) secondary market value...
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I need to write the scene where Jack considers his future. He's totally torn between Doing Good (search and rescue, police detective) and Being Awesome (archaeologist, news reporter).
Jack probably has a lot of pennies. A LOT of pennies.
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Perhaps Jack can be Indiana Jones, and do both? Find valuable artifacts, find trouble, find ways out of trouble...
Hey. Fifty pennies is a roll of pennies. Two rolls of pennies is a dollar. Just keep counting and wrapping the coins and taking them to the bank to get bills-- if for no other reason than they're lighter-- kid can probably make more money than someone who graduated high school and got a job just by looking down at the right time.
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But, regardless, thank you so much for posting the Hiatus Continuations. It makes the waiting considerably more tolerable.
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In another few years, Claude would vanish into thin air, for all most of Primatech knew
Most of Primatech? Hmm. Circles within circles. And hey, guess what? According to one of the spoiler people (Kristin from E!, I think), Kring is trying his darndest to get Eccleston back for more episodes. Which isn't really anything we didn't already know, but the fact that Kring bothered to announce it to her might mean he's close to some kind of deal.
-blue
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I hope Eccleston will reprise the role. I don't think we've seen the last of Claude yet!
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Hmm, it doesn't make as much sense when I see it typed out.
~Abby
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~Abby
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And, um...now I'm kind of shipping Ted/Hana. Thanks, Sam. :p
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I'm blown away by this. I read it all yesterday (so, unfortunately, I've had to bear the rest of the hiatus Heroes-less), and have since reccommended it to everyone I know.
Oh, God, I'm gushing way too much. But, really, the level of detail, the way I could SO EASILY picture everything you describe as happening in canon (more, hoping it WOULD happen, just the way you've written it), and the inclusion of the paintings... It's genius, really.
Thank you for an excellent read!
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