the twattiest twat in spineville (adora_spinytwat) wrote in gangstersinlove,
the twattiest twat in spineville
adora_spinytwat
gangstersinlove

CLAIRE COULDN'T KEEP HER EYES OFF SURESH'S HANDS. HER FATHER'S LIFE LAY IN THOSE HANDS. SHE TOOK SOME COMFORT FROM THEIR OBVIOUS COMPETENCY, BUT IN THE END WHAT SHE WOULD REMEMBER FOR THE REST OF HER LIFE WAS THE RED, RED BLOOD TRICKLING AWAY FROM THE INCISION.

SHE TOOK ONE QUICK LOOK AT SYLAR; SHE HAD NO IDEA WHY HE WAS BEING SO HELPFUL. CLAIRE KNEW, DEEP IN HER HEART, THAT SYLAR COULD HAVE TAKEN THE GUN AWAY FROM HER ANYTIME HE PLEASED. SHE DIDN'T UNDERSTAND HIS MOTIVES AND DOUBTED THAT SHE EVER WOULD, BUT FOR THE MOMENT IT WOULD SUFFICE THAT SYLAR WASN'T TRYING TO HURT HER.

CLAIRE HAD ALREADY TRIED A THOUSAND TIMES TO FIGURE OUT WHO WOULD PAY TO KILL HER FATHER. HE WAS A NOBODY, A PAPER MANUFACTURER. SHE WOULD HAVE SWORN THAT SHE KNEW EVERYTHING ABOUT HER FATHER, BUT AS THIS EVENING HAD PROVEN, STILL WATERS RAN THE DEEPEST OF ALL.

"I HAVE DONE EVERYTHING IN MY POWER," SURESH SAID SUDDENLY. CLAIRE JUMPED, STARTLED. "WHETHER HE LIVES NOW IS UP TO THE GODS." HE MOVED TO THE MINIATURE SINK IN THE CORNER AND STARTED TO WASH HIS HANDS. CLAIRE LOOKED AT SYLAR, WHO WAS STARING AT THE BLOOD THAT COVERED HER FATHER'S ABDOMEN. SHE COULDN'T READ HIS FACE. SHE WASN'T SURE SHE WANTED TO.

WHEN THE BACK DOOR SLAMMED OPEN, SYLAR GRABBED A SMALL PISTOL FROM HIS BOOT AND AIMED IT AT THE THIN, BLOOD-COVERED FIGURE STANDING THERE. CLAIRE NEARLY SCREAMED.

"PUT IT DOWN, SYLAR," THE FIGURE COMMANDED WEARILY. "I'M NOT HERE FOR YOU."

SYLAR HOLSTERED THE GUN AND STOOD SLOWLY. "PETRELLI," HE ACKNOWLEDGED. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?"

"I NEED THE GOOD DOCTOR'S SERVICES," PETRELLI SAID SARCASTICALLY. "WHAT DO YOU THINK?" HE STEPPED FORWARD INTO THE LIGHT AND RUBBED HIS HAND DOWN HIS FACE. HIS HAND CAME AWAY COVERED IN FRESH BLOOD.

SURESH SIGHED AND GESTURED FOR HIM TO SIT DOWN IN THE ROOM'S ONLY CHAIR. "THAT'S A NASTY CUT," SYLAR SAID, NARROWING HIS EYES. "WHAT HAPPENED?"

"CUT MYSELF SHAVING, OF COURSE," PETRELLI SAID, LEANING BACK TIREDLY.

"OF COURSE," SYLAR REPLIED MOCKINGLY.

CLAIRE TRIED TO SHRINK BACK INTO THE SHADOWS. THE LAST FIVE MINUTES HAD WORN ON HER ALREADY-TATTERED NERVES UNTIL SHE THOUGHT SHE MIGHT START SCREAMING AND NEVER STOP. SHE WASN'T SURE WHAT TO DO WITH THE GUN THAT WAS STILL IN HER HAND. IT WAS USELESS NOW, OF COURSE; SHE WAS NO THREAT TO ANYONE.

THE MOTION CAUGHT PETRELLI'S EYE, AND HE STARTED TO RISE OUT OF THE CHAIR, NARROWING HIS EYES AT THE CORNER SHE STOOD IN UNTIL HE SAW HER FACE. "CLAIRE?" HE GASPED, HIS EYES WIDE. "IS THAT REALLY YOU?"
Tags: adora, chandra, claire, mr. bennet, murdertreats, peter, sylar
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