NIGHT 54: M21-30 HALLWAY
[ from here ]It took her a moment when she turned down the men's hallway to skim the area with her flashlight. This was the part where she got confused, the muscle memory not really carrying her the whole way. He'd given her directions once, but that felt like a lifetime ago now that she actually needed to put them into practice without Bella
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Once he'd laced up his boots and pulled on his heavy coat, he wasted no time in getting himself to the door, knife in one hand and his light in the other. Always careful not to run into Peter when the moron had a shovel in hand, he pressed down on the handle with the heel of his hand and then nudged the door open with his shoulder, peering into the hallway beyond.
So far, so good. Only one figure was walking through the hallway, and they seemed to be heading into it, not out. Not Peter, then.
But as Sylar prepared to step out of the door, he noticed something that made him pause. The figure was systematically sweeping each doorway with their light, and when they did, the glow reflected back from their flashlight and illuminated their features.
Claire.
Sylar pulled back into his room and narrowed his eyes at the wall. Chances were that Claire had come here to look for Peter, but given how slowly she was searching and how much care she was taking with the doors, she either wasn't very familiar with Peter's room block... ...or Peter had warned her about what else might be lurking in the patient quarters.
But... that didn't make sense, did it? Sylar frowned. Peter being Peter, he might've told Claire about sharing a room hallway with their nemesis, but regardless of whether he had or not, he'd never allow Claire to come here precisely because of how much it'd endanger her. Not unless he was ready to "protect" her, anyway, but then... why was Claire alone? And, if she was alone, why didn't she seem to be on the immediate lookout for danger? Sylar had seen how determined she was to take him down when he'd provoked her during that movie, but while he considered her stupid enough to try to fight him, he knew she wasn't brave enough to do it with a level face... which was what she had, right now, out in the hallway.
So. Peter didn't know that Claire was here, and Claire didn't know about Sylar.
A smirk grew on Sylar's face as he tightened his hold on the knife in his hand. Just one ambush - one good bash on the skull, one good slice...
But was now the time?
His smirk weakened. Sylar's priority right now was to find out what the hell was going on in the Institute, and if his experiences with Kimbley and Elle had taught him anything, it was that even if he did manage to acquire a new power, it was heavily limited, and worse, left him in crippling pain for over a day. He didn't know if he could afford that right now, even if he could feel the edge of his need digging into him like cold metal. It'd have to wait, and besides, as much as he hated to admit it...
He slowly raised his gaze to the door.
As much as he hated to admit it, he already had a new ability that he'd yet to harness.
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He felt his knees give out. He gasped for air as his hands hit the side of his desk, struggling in vain to pull himself upright again. But, as soon as he tried to put weight into his palms, he felt them flare up and he staggered back, hitting the room's other desk in the process. Off-balance, he stumbled and hit the ground, though he could barely feel the shock of the impact through the twisting, tearing, crushing agony that had become his muscles and joints.
He fought not to scream as his nose stretched and wrenched back together, as each individual bone in his fingers and toes seemed to break and reform. His vision glassed over, then sharpened. He hacked on his own phlegm as his stomach turned and his throat went slack. Rigid, his arms and legs jerked against the ground in erratic bursts as his lungs and heart shrunk, then grew.
His back arched and slammed back down. Then, nothing.
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In this room. Forever.
His eyes shot open and he inhaled deeply as he pressed his hands against the floor and pushed himself to his knees. He could already see that the scar on his hand had disappeared, but - fast, he needed to be fast. Claire might've already left, or worse, caught up with Peter, in which case this had all been for nothing.
He dragged himself to his feet using the mattress as his hand-hold, then tried not to fall over. He found himself disoriented by how he hadn't actually regained his full height, but that was the least of his worries; he looked down at himself - clothing a little baggier, but that's how it looked on everyone, and he yanked his coat off his shoulders as he realized that it'd easily give him away. Knife too, if Claire had talked to Elle - and she might've.
He shoved the knife under his pillow - painfully - and then turned to face the door. He snatched up his flashlight from where it'd fallen on the ground and put his hand on the doorknob. Here went-
He froze, and then, with a frown, slapped a hand to his forehead and ripped off the small piece of gauze that still sat there. He ran an unfamiliar finger over the incision injury, finding only the few stitches that remained. No scars, just like his hand.
Quickly, he arranged the stupid bangs over the injury and then, with grit teeth, stepped outside.
[ Into the main hall. ]
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