Dining on Ashes // Chapter Four

[mickey_dear]

Title: Dining On Ashes
Chapter name: 4// Dead Men Tell No Tales
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar, OCs
Pairing(s): Eventual Sylar/OC
Rating: NC-17 for the ensemble
Summary: After the events of Villains, Sylar finds himself working, yet again, for a company. Just when he thinks that things might be different, he is sent on an assignment. Killings, he can handle, robberies, no problem, but, when he's asked to protect a woman and bring her safely back to the Corporation, he might have met his match.




made by faerie_vixen

Chapter Four// Dead men tell no tales

Warm.

It was the first time she had been warm in weeks. And clean, in fact. It felt nice to scrub away the gunk, to feel soft and human again, although human was not quite the way she would put it. She’d have to stick with alive.

Being alive felt nice, though, for a change.

Shampoo was another treat. She allowed herself to lather her hair up correctly, sticking it up into one of those buns the shampoo commercials were so fond of. The smell of fruit shampoo helped cover up the smell of death that seemed to have buried itself deep within her pores. Still, no matter how much she scrubbed, how much shampoo and soap she used, she could still smell the odor lingering on her skin. She feared that it had become a part of her, just as surely as this ability of hers.

Then, with a sad sigh, she figured that she’d kept him waiting long enough and closed the shower. With a speed she did not remember possessing, she dressed and exited the room.

Only to be surprised by the smell of detergent and various cleaning products.

The trailer was no longer the same. Not only were the bodies gone -and she did not want to know where- but majority of the smell was gone as well. It seemed as though a normal, albeit slightly stinky, family lived here and had simply walked out for some fresh air. Sylar saw her standing jaw slack and eyebrows risen, looking about as confused as a fish out of water and answered her unspoken query.

“Your little mess needed cleaning up, just in case someone was curious and came to investigate. The cops are a mess I am planning to avoid.”

She looked around once more at the perfectly placed throw, at the body-less floor. The trailer was cleaner than it had ever been.

“Are you a maid or something?”

He suddenly appeared beside her, shutting the bathroom door with a violence that made her jump. She felt his anger, like sparks jumping from his skin, leaching to every surface. Perhaps the shower had made her feel a little too alive. After all, she had to remember that she was not invincible.

He was.

His hand was on her neck, pressing, but not too firmly, on her pale skin. A gentle reminder that he was the boss, that he was to be respected. The gratitude she had felt towards him evaporated like the tears had on her finger. She remembered his earlier display of power and the feeling that he as more rage than man, unsure of why she had forgotten this in the first place.

Unsure of why she had trusted him.

“Why am I still alive?” she blurted out, uncertain of how the words had let themselves out.

“What makes you think you’ll stay alive?”

“You cleaned my house.”

“Maybe I’m meticulous.”

She gulped. He could be telling the truth. She had went to law school, she knew that the perfectionists -the ones who made sure to clean every last drop of blood from the scene- were the ones who survived the longest, or that never got caught.

“Maybe you’re just yanking my chain.”

He laughed, voice tinkling in the small trailer. Still, the sound chilled her thoroughly, as though a bucket of ice had been poured into her veins. The hand tightened its grip for a moment

“Even you don’t believe yourself. You can’t lie, not to me.”

Then, with a start she remembered she wasn’t as powerless as she thought. Even if she wanted nothing more than to never use her powers again and walk away from this life, she knew Sylar would never let her. She knew that if she wanted to walk away from this conversation alive, she could need to show her worth. She would need to this man, Sylar, who was scaring her more than anything, or anyone, ever had. Even when she ran away from the company that had made her into this monster. Even when those company men had chased her, guns blazing. Even when she had sucked the life out of them with a touch of her finger.

She felt her power spread upon her skin. She felt the connection with Sylar, the funnel she could create, harvesting his powers and sucking him dry. She knew she was smiling when he gasped and pulled away his hand. Apparently he had not foreseen this possible outcome.

Then came his powers, rushing over her like a tidal wave.

A glorious tidal wave.

She felt her body hum with energy and would have closed her eyes in delight had she been able to take her eyes off of the man who crumpled on the floor, most of his upper torso a shriveled piece of meat that resembled jerky. This thought made her laugh, sparks dancing on her fingertips.

“Guess who the victim is now?”

He jumped to his feet, flexing his healing fingers.

“I’ll run out of here. The mess I’ll make is going to make clean up near impossible.”

“Clean up doesn’t matter”

She felt her skin tingle. She wasn’t about to blame it on the after effects of his touch, even if there was no other possible cause. Unless the tingling could be associated with the powers she had stolen from him. As soon as she though it she knew she was right. She just didn’t know what the tingling was supposed to do.

“Just like it doesn’t matter if I am alive.”

“Yes.”

Again, her skin tingled, although the feeling was not as strong. His powers were fading. She tried not to let her panic show.

“Something wrong?” he asked, concern far from his voice. It was a joke, this was funny to him. In an act of almost desperation, she grabbed a knife from the butcher’s block, holding it out between them, not that it would be much use.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

She noticed a small nod of the head, as though trying to rid of some uncomfortable sensation. Perhaps the tingling.

“I don’t like liars,” he said with a smirk.

Of course!

“It’s a lie detector,” she realized with a smirk.

He watched her quietly, feet spaced as though ready for a physical onslaught. But neither moved, even when the realization hit her harder than a bullet.

“You need me alive. You can’t kill me.”

With a smirk she plunged the knife into the butcher’s block. His face was impassible but she knew that, behind his mask, he was screaming. Screaming in frustration that she had won. She could have jumped for joy, instead she jumped in surprise.

Someone was knocking at the door.

¤ ¤ ¤

Miss Baker had never particularly liked animals. She had thought that they were a waste of time, energy and, worst of all, money. They stank, shed, ate your favorite cushions and did their “duty” on your favorite rugs.

But when she met Betsy, her glacial heart unfroze, if only for a second. The pup was a small white ball of energetic fur. A bunch of curly white hairs had been trapped by a pink bow, no doubt to trick the potential adoptee into thinking that the mean look in her eye was only a harmless glance.

To make her seem like a dog you would bring home when she clearly was the last thing you wanted to invite in the privacy of your house.

Betsy was the runt of the pack and, from a young age, had proven temperamental and mean. She nipped at the other dogs’ ears in ways that weren’t playful; she would push the other pups away when it was time to feed. The breeder even swore that she made the puppies more anxious and more eager to fight than the previous litters.

Miss Baker, however, thought it was a match made in heaven.

She had insisted on buying the pup even if the breeder had recommended against it. After all, Betsy demanded a lot of energy, something the breeder didn’t think Miss Baker possessed. Clearly, the breeder did not know Miss Baker.

As soon as she brought the dog home, Betsy started causing problems. She had a very good knack for sealing things of value and burying them where she could not be proven as the culprit. Miss Baker felt a rush of warmth she had never before felt and guessed that it was what others called “love”.

In one particularly dreadful incident, Betsy had stolen the wedding ring of Mister Hale.

The man had carelessly left it on his porch table when leaving to meet his girlfriend, the busty Miss Candy Cake -although Candy Cake as most certainly not her name and Miss Baker highly suspected that she was paid to keep Mister Hale’s company-.

Her wife noticed its disappearance and decided to keep a closer eye on her husband. It did not take her long to see just what was up; Candy Cake was not hard to spot; the girl’s outfits practically screamed “I can be yours for a slight fee”.

The divorce had been disastrous, a true chaotic feast. Miss Baker had never been more proud of another being. She bought Betsy a fake diamond collar as a reward.

Recently, Betsy had begun a new habit, digging things up.

Love letters, unpaid bills, condoms, stolen cash, pink slips, you name it. The dog was practically a scandal detector. But, for the past few days, thing had been quiet and, other than the appearance of the strange man, she had had no juicy gossip to report to her afternoon meet. The morning hubbub concerning the man had blow off over lunch and now they all wanted to know more.

“Am I gettin’ paid for this?”

The ladies shook their heads. Jamie Adams shook her head -that girl was not a lady no matter how you sliced it, real ladies didn’t just go gallivanting around town like she did. The girl was a-

“But, you is curious, no?” Jamie asked.

She was curious, there was no denying it. So, when they had left and Betsy dropped a finger, a very human finger that looked as though it belonged to a person who had spent the last few days in an oven, she knew she might be getting some new answers.

Or at least some new and interesting questions.

“Where’d you get this girl?”

It took a few biscuits to coax Betsy into showing Miss Baker the origin of the finger, a small hole in the ground where a shriveled hand could be seen. After a couple of minutes she was running, although it was more like waddling quickly, back towards the site, shovel in hand.

She didn’t need to dig very deep to see that the hand was attached to an arm that was attached to a torso that wore an ugly green dress with a name tag.

“Keera.”

Miss Baker had never really like the girl but that didn’t mean much, Miss Baker didn’t like anyone but Betsy.

With a triumphant smile, she picked up the muddy Betsy and walked down to the Jax’s trailer.

On her way there, she thought that her 4th grade math teacher was wrong when he said “You have got to be one of the stupidest children I have ever met”. After all she had just solved a murder, how dumb could she be?

It turned out her teacher was right, Miss Baker was rather stupid to think that the murderer, or murderers, currently talking in the trailer would want her gab open to spill out their secrets. Her talkative mouth would have to be shut.

Forever.

¤ ¤ ¤

“I’ll answer,” Sylar said, walking, jaw set eyes blazing, towards the door.

“No.”

She didn’t scream, but her voice was firm and held more authority then it had in months. She shook her head, sticking an arm up as if to prevent him from advancing. She knew that no matter how many arms she placed in his way, it was not the obstacles that stopped him but rather curiosity. He wanted to see how she would handle the situation.

“I’ll send them on their way; there is no need for other deaths today.”

He looked amused as he sat down on the bed in her parent’s room, out of sight out of mind.

She took a calming breath before opening the door.

“Adrianna! S’been a while. Remember me?”

“Of course I do, Miss Baker. Who can ever forget you?”

She didn’t add that she couldn’t forget the old lady no matter how hard she tried.

“Back from school? You finally left that stupid place?”

“I’m just here for a brief visit. I’ll be leaving again today.”

“It’s funny, but I dinna see you arrive. You dinna say hello.”

“I came in late at night; I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Ahh…”

The old woman stuck her head in the door, looking about. Adrianna let the old snoop look around; knowing that opposing such things would only make the woman even more curious. Even with her head filled with nonsense, Baker still was a keen lie detector. For a second Adrianna wondered if perhaps she was a lie detector herself, like Sylar. But the woman would have much juicier gossip if she could tell with certainty when people lied.

“Is you momma around? I needed to…” She let the words trail as she looked around once more. She didn’t even need to pretend she was there for a reason, all the residents of the park knew that when Miss Baker showed up unannounced it was because your family was the next big news story.

“Gone to get groceries.”

“Dad?”

“Late shift, I’m afraid.”

“Ahh…”

“Can I come in? I has something to show you.”

“Can’t you show it to me here?”

“’S’not the sort of thing you might want snoops to see.”

Snoops like you she almost spit out. Instead she took a calming breath and acted as politely as one could act towards Miss Baker.

“I have nothing to hide.”

“Believe me dearie, you do.”

The woman leaned in conspiratorially, whispering rather loudly, as though hoping someone else might overhear, “Why is you sister buried in the ground?”

“I wouldn’t know. Nor do I believe you.”

The woman took out a dried finger from its place in the pocket of her pink cat colored sweater.

“I have pictures of her entering you house and none of her leaving.”

“Maybe you just missed her.”

“Still, the cops might think my story is rather interesting. They could take you in for questioning. They’d find it funny that you disappear for a few months then suddenly show up and your whole family goes missing, don’t ya think?”

“Come in, you’re right, we need to discuss this over tea.”

“Are you nuts? I’m not drinking anything you make me. I’m not going to figure out the truth then take it to the grave because you fed me poison. But, I’ll come in. Maybe we can work something out.”

Adrianna led her in, casting a quick glance to the bedroom but Sylar was nowhere to be seen. Another glance around and she spotted him in the kitchen, pulling out a pouch of tea and setting the pot on the stove.

“Who’re you?” Miss Baker asked upon seeing him.

“Adrianna’s friend from school.”

“Then, why d’you show up in the middle of the night. You an accomplice? Maybe a hit man?”

“Tea?” he asked, the door shutting and locking shut behind Adrianna and Miss Baker. The old woman jumped and Adrianna could feel her pulse quicken from the slight touch she applied to the woman’s arm, guiding her forward.

“Dinna you listen to me, I says no tea, you might try to poison me.”

“That’s too bad my tea’s much better than my bite.”

“I’m calling the cops.”

“That’s a bad idea.”

Adrianna could see Miss Baker trying to turn and run for the door but Sylar held her paralyzed. Slowly she rose from the floor, her eyes showing her struggle but her body holding perfectly still.

“You’ve had your fun, she won’t say anything. She’s terrified enough as it is,” Jax said, shifting her glance from the levitating Miss Baker to the grinning Sylar.

“But, Jax, dead men tell no tales”

His hand rose, one finger pointed at the old woman’s head.

Then, as suddenly as appeared the red line on her forehead, Miss Baker started screaming. He allowed her more freedom of movement, mostly likely to watch her toss and kick, trying to get away.

“Stop, you’ve had your fun,” Adrianna insisted, attempting to grab Miss Baker’s hand and drag her back to the ground. However, the woman’s limbs were moving so erratically that she could not catch her arm, much less get a grip.

She turned to face Sylar, eyes begging him to stop. But he did not see her; he was in his own little universe, too absorbed with Miss Baker’s suffering to notice the woman pleading him to stop.

She wondered briefly if she should not drain him, not enough to kill him but enough to get him to stop. But she knew that Miss Baker knew too much, that she would tell everything to the cops and now that she even had physical proof that Sylar, if not Adrianna, had hurt her, her stories would be much more convincing.

After all, even if she were to stop him now, she need only glance in his eyes to see that he was thirsting for blood. If he didn’t have the old woman’s what would stop him from taking Jax’s once he had recovered. And he would be even angrier that she had attacked him. So, she brought her hand up to the screaming woman’s mouth and pressed.

Within seconds she was nothing more than a dried up shell. Sylar and Adrianna released their hold and watched her fall. Adrianna knelt next to her, unsure of what else to do.

Rushed, heavy footsteps made their way to her. Before she was aware of the she was forced up against the door, pressure on her throat but no hand in sight. He was learning; touch her and you risk becoming a dried up raisin.

“What was that for?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“She was screaming loud enough for the whole county to hear. I had to stop her before the cops came rushing in.”

With a frustrated grunt he let her collapse to the floor. She knelt in the stairs for a few moments, rubbing at her neck.

“We need to go to her trailer and grab everything she has on you.”

“Why bother?”

“I’ve said it before; cops are a hassle I’d rather avoid. It’ll be hard enough bringing you back to the Base without sirens following us at every turn.”

“Okay, but what do we do about her body? I mean, we can’t just leave her here.”

“We’ll put it in her trailer.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s a bit bizarre to find a dried up body with a head half open sitting in one’s own home.”

“How about you follow my instructions this time?”

“Fine.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Of course I do,” she said indignantly.

“I want you to look outside and see if anyone’s around. If not walk to her trailer, I’ll follow you there.”

With a sigh she unlocked and pushed open the door. A glance around revealed what she had thought, everyone had retreated inside their homes for lunch. The park was almost eerily quiet and she rubbed her arms for warmth and comfort. None came.

She glanced around once more before heading to the trailer in front of hers. She turned to see if Sylar was following only to find him directly behind her, a mere foot separating their faces.

She had never noticed the strange color of his eyes, an almost red brown that reminded her of the mud she had created when she had poured a bottle of water on the red sand of the Grand Canyon. She found it almost funny that a killer’s eyes would bring back pleasant childhood memories, one of the few she had.

Miss Baker’s dried hand hit hers and snapped her back to present day.

She turned back to the trailer’s door, reaching and turning the knob. It wasn’t locked. She entered the dark room, curtains drawn in the middle of the day, not bothering to turn on the light.

She concentrated on the pile of pictures on the table, pulling out the ones of interest as Sylar set Miss Baker’s inanimate body at the table. Ad tried not to think of the way her stomach had clenched when his eyes had captured hers.

I must be even more fucked up than I thought to even think of him in that way.

She decided to blame the feelings on her lack of proper attention from men over the past year. She just wanted someone to care for her, she told herself. Nothing to worry about.

Next to her, Sylar’s skin tingled and, for once, had did not have a clue why.