Memories - Sylar Fic
Character: Sylar
Genre: Gen
Author: sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 870
Rating: PG
Prompt: How good is your memory? theatrical_muse
Notes: Post series.
There are newspapers taped to the inside of the glass of my beautiful etched windows. The middle one is gone, plywood’s been nailed over the spot, and the security gate is covered in spray paint. It’s ugly, and it’s nothing like I remember. When I was Gabriel, I was proud of those windows. They cost me a month’s rent each to have done, but when the sun would shine into the shop, making the clocks glitter and the dust motes dance it was beautiful. No sunlight could get through now.
I popped the lock with telekinesis, and yanked the gate out of my way. It surprised the hell out of me that the shop was still there at all not that it was a prime piece of real estate, but someone else should have moved in by now. I’d been gone for two years. It was hard to believe that was all that had passed especially if you counted the years that never were that Parkman had gifted me with. I brushed my fingers over the doorknob. The polished brass was pitted and tarnished now, and when I closed my eyes I could see the dozens of people who had touched it over the years. When I looked back long enough I could see myself, changing the locks when I took over for my father’s long gone partner.
Thin shafts of sunlight spot the rug from holes and gaps in the newspaper. I shut the door behind me not bothering to lock it and take my first look at the place where I was born. There are gaps in my memory, torn into the fabric of my identity when Parkman tried to erase Gabriel Gray. When he tried to kill Sylar and turn me into Nathan Petrelli. My sanity was already in dire straights when he did it, and afterward there wasn’t much left of me. Samson had his man try to bring me back, but there were still huge chunks of my life as Gabriel that I couldn’t remember. Sylar’s life was easy, but I wanted to remember who I was before that.
My phone rang. It was Peter’s ringtone, which was pretty silly. Peter was the only person who called me. I didn’t need any other ringtones, but I had them anyway. I answered it on reflex. We’d been together for so long now. When it came to Peter I counted those years as real.
“Hey,” I said as I walked to the center of the shop. The clocks were all dead, and I was shocked that they hadn’t been stolen or the place vandalized. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere, and I hated the filth. But I did smile when the familiar stink of mold reached my nose. No matter what I did, I never could seem to get rid of that. It was a good memory of a bad thing, and it made me smile.
The silence was getting to me. I went back into the main room and quickly ripped the newspaper down from the windows. The sunlight hurt my eyes, and I had to duck behind the plywood panel until my eyes adjusted. That would need to be replaced. I had a lot of work to do here to reopen. I gathered up the yellowing, brittle, newspapers and shoved them into one of the few large trash bags that I had in the back.
Bright sunlight shone through the chunk of crystal that I’d used to kill Brian. I was drawn to the brightness, and I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood as I reached for it. I didn’t need my power to remember what I’d done. That was a part of me forever. Nothing could ever make me forget my first kill.
“I’m at my shop. Trying to put some of my life together…No… I’m OK. Don’t worry….I’ll be home before you are.” I paced as I talked, running my fingertips through the dust, over my things. “I love you.”
After I hung up, I went into the backroom and found my cleaning supplies. I knew I didn’t have enough to get far, but I couldn’t leave the shop a disaster area. I started in the back, cleaning each of my tools, and as I dusted and scrubbed I used my ability to fill in some of the holes in my memories. I was a different person than I was then. Peter had changed me so much, but it was good to have my foundation back in place.
When I touched the crucifix I had hanging above my workbench it made me tear up as images of my mother flickered through my mind. These were good memories. They weren’t of me fighting with her over the scissors, and her screaming at me that I was possessed. It wasn’t the horrible memory of her blood on my hands as she died. She loved me, and I missed her. I always would.
“I should find more of your things, mom. I’m’ not crazy anymore. I can handle it.” It’d be better this time. I had Peter with me. He’d keep me from losing sight of who I was. He was my anchor.
Genre: Gen
Author: sylar
Fandom: Heroes
Word count: 870
Rating: PG
Prompt: How good is your memory? theatrical_muse
Notes: Post series.
There are newspapers taped to the inside of the glass of my beautiful etched windows. The middle one is gone, plywood’s been nailed over the spot, and the security gate is covered in spray paint. It’s ugly, and it’s nothing like I remember. When I was Gabriel, I was proud of those windows. They cost me a month’s rent each to have done, but when the sun would shine into the shop, making the clocks glitter and the dust motes dance it was beautiful. No sunlight could get through now.
I popped the lock with telekinesis, and yanked the gate out of my way. It surprised the hell out of me that the shop was still there at all not that it was a prime piece of real estate, but someone else should have moved in by now. I’d been gone for two years. It was hard to believe that was all that had passed especially if you counted the years that never were that Parkman had gifted me with. I brushed my fingers over the doorknob. The polished brass was pitted and tarnished now, and when I closed my eyes I could see the dozens of people who had touched it over the years. When I looked back long enough I could see myself, changing the locks when I took over for my father’s long gone partner.
Thin shafts of sunlight spot the rug from holes and gaps in the newspaper. I shut the door behind me not bothering to lock it and take my first look at the place where I was born. There are gaps in my memory, torn into the fabric of my identity when Parkman tried to erase Gabriel Gray. When he tried to kill Sylar and turn me into Nathan Petrelli. My sanity was already in dire straights when he did it, and afterward there wasn’t much left of me. Samson had his man try to bring me back, but there were still huge chunks of my life as Gabriel that I couldn’t remember. Sylar’s life was easy, but I wanted to remember who I was before that.
My phone rang. It was Peter’s ringtone, which was pretty silly. Peter was the only person who called me. I didn’t need any other ringtones, but I had them anyway. I answered it on reflex. We’d been together for so long now. When it came to Peter I counted those years as real.
“Hey,” I said as I walked to the center of the shop. The clocks were all dead, and I was shocked that they hadn’t been stolen or the place vandalized. There was dust and cobwebs everywhere, and I hated the filth. But I did smile when the familiar stink of mold reached my nose. No matter what I did, I never could seem to get rid of that. It was a good memory of a bad thing, and it made me smile.
The silence was getting to me. I went back into the main room and quickly ripped the newspaper down from the windows. The sunlight hurt my eyes, and I had to duck behind the plywood panel until my eyes adjusted. That would need to be replaced. I had a lot of work to do here to reopen. I gathered up the yellowing, brittle, newspapers and shoved them into one of the few large trash bags that I had in the back.
Bright sunlight shone through the chunk of crystal that I’d used to kill Brian. I was drawn to the brightness, and I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood as I reached for it. I didn’t need my power to remember what I’d done. That was a part of me forever. Nothing could ever make me forget my first kill.
“I’m at my shop. Trying to put some of my life together…No… I’m OK. Don’t worry….I’ll be home before you are.” I paced as I talked, running my fingertips through the dust, over my things. “I love you.”
After I hung up, I went into the backroom and found my cleaning supplies. I knew I didn’t have enough to get far, but I couldn’t leave the shop a disaster area. I started in the back, cleaning each of my tools, and as I dusted and scrubbed I used my ability to fill in some of the holes in my memories. I was a different person than I was then. Peter had changed me so much, but it was good to have my foundation back in place.
When I touched the crucifix I had hanging above my workbench it made me tear up as images of my mother flickered through my mind. These were good memories. They weren’t of me fighting with her over the scissors, and her screaming at me that I was possessed. It wasn’t the horrible memory of her blood on my hands as she died. She loved me, and I missed her. I always would.
“I should find more of your things, mom. I’m’ not crazy anymore. I can handle it.” It’d be better this time. I had Peter with me. He’d keep me from losing sight of who I was. He was my anchor.