Fic: Letters From a Serial Killer, part one
Title: Letters From a Serial Killer (1/3)
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Heidi, Peter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,085
Summary: What do you do when you discover the man you thought was your husband is actually your husband's murderer?
Notes: This is set in the "Five Years Gone" universe and takes place after that episode. I'm not sure if post-5YG fics are technically even possible, so I'll call this an AU just to be safe.
This story is meant to take place after my first Sylar/Heidi fic, Complicated, but it's not particularly necessary to have read that one first.
Um...it's angsty. But that should go without saying, hehe.
The first letter came several months after America discovered its president wasn’t exactly who he claimed to be.
For former First Lady Heidi Petrelli, the memory of those months consisted mainly of a long blur, interspersed with brief instances of sharp, agonizing clarity. She remembered perfectly the moment the whole nightmare had started-beginning with the sudden appearance of her brother-in-law, Peter.
She hadn’t seen Peter in years, not since his falling-out with Nathan, which had taken place a short time after Nathan was elected president. Seeing him again had come as a shock in more ways than one. She hadn’t expected that he would be so changed-not only in appearance, but even more in personality-that she would barely recognize him. She hadn’t expected him to look like he’d just seen the beginning of World War III-fresh bruises still healing, dried blood encrusted on his face, clothing hanging off of him in shreds. And she certainly had never expected him to inform her that Nathan was dead, had been dead for months if not years, and that the man she’d thought was her husband was actually a psychopathic mass murderer. A mass murderer who, in spite of Peter’s best efforts, was currently at large, his whereabouts completely unknown.
And even as everyone around her was thrown into a frenzy of shock and disbelief, Heidi’s primary sensation was that of strange, merciful numbness.
As a new president took over the reeling nation, she and the boys moved permanently back into the mansion in Manhattan, where the numbness gave way to grief that nearly swallowed her whole. She’d always been possessed of a fierce determination-Nathan would have called it sheer stubbornness-that had allowed her to fight through whatever circumstances life chose to throw at her, and come out on the other side with her sanity intact.
Her husband’s killer had taken that stubborn determination and shattered it like porcelain hitting concrete. Everywhere she heard his name-Sylar-spoken in hushed tones as though saying it aloud would make him appear from thin air and obliterate them all with a wave of his hand. Some spoke of him with pure fear in their voices. Others-like Peter-hissed his name with hatred in their eyes that bordered on madness. Heidi knew only that it was a name she never wanted to hear again, yet was unable to escape. The temptation to shut down completely-to barricade herself in her bedroom and never come out-was nearly overwhelming.
But time marched relentlessly on, pushing her with it. And slowly, the remnants of her hardheadedness returned. It was all that kept her going.
It seemed odd at first, returning to a semblance of normal life after having lived in the White House. But in all honesty, she didn’t mind falling back into the pattern of everyday life’s ordinary tasks-watering flowers, shopping for groceries, checking the mail. The mundane chores gave her something to keep her busy, something to prevent her from thinking, remembering. It didn’t even matter that she barely noticed the flowers’ bright colors, or that all food tasted like cardboard, or that nothing noteworthy ever came in the mail.
Until one day she received a plain white envelope, addressed to her in handwriting she didn’t recognize.
She separated it from the rest of the mail and looked it over, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. Her name and address were printed in simple black ink, in handwriting that was rather straightforward, no-nonsense, and-she guessed-probably masculine. The envelope contained no return address and no other clue as to the sender’s identity.
She waited until she had returned to the house, discarded the rest of the mail, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom before she unsealed the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. She unfolded it carefully, revealing words written in the same neat, black print as that from the envelope.
And for no particular reason, her heart skipped uncomfortably in her chest as she began to read.
Hello, Heidi.
I would say I hope things are going well with you, but somehow I doubt you would appreciate the sentiment. I’m sure that by now, your brother-in-law has told you all sorts of stories about me, about the things I’ve done in the past. No doubt you find his testimony more trustworthy than you would mine, but still…you’d do well not to believe everything he tells you. He’s got a bit of a checkered past, himself.
But enough about Peter. I’ve found myself thinking about you a lot, Heidi, ever since my true identity was discovered and I was forced to re-think my plans. For that matter, I’ve been thinking about you a lot for the past several years, now. I tried not to, at first-because you’re not special. You’re not like me, or Nathan, or Peter. You’re just one of the ordinary millions destined to be killed off in the process of natural selection. You shouldn’t have been anything but a blip on my radar.
Yet somehow, you managed to beat the odds. Before you, I had people grouped into two categories: those who were special, and those who weren’t. Simple, really. There was no in between, no gray area. And of course, you were originally just a member of the latter group, those people who warranted my attention only if they got in my way or if they could be of some use to me. But somewhere along the line, things changed.
I’ve always had a knack for seeing how things work-and that includes people, to some extent. People are just like complex machines, if you think about it. All the different parts fit together in a certain way, same as a watch or a car or anything else. In a watch, if one part is missing, damaged or even just a little bit loose, the entire watch is “off.” Broken. Defective. And it’s the same with people.
When I killed Nathan, I broke you. I didn’t notice it at first, but as time passed, it became more and more unmistakable. Even though you didn’t know he was dead, you could still tell something was wrong-and the more desperate you became, the harder it was for me to ignore you. Because when something around me is broken, I can’t just overlook it. I have to fix it. Of course, fixing people is sometimes more difficult than fixing watches. More time-consuming, too. But I enjoyed the challenge you presented, Heidi-the dilemma of spending time around you while simultaneously keeping you from suspecting I wasn’t really Nathan. (I admit there was more than one occasion when you came a little too close to the truth, and I had to have your memories…altered a little.)
At some point, though, I began to realize that my time with you had become more than just the challenge of fixing what I had broken. I found myself looking forward to seeing you-and I found your company to be more enjoyable than I had anticipated. You probably think I’m some kind of unfeeling monster who cares for nothing but power, but that’s really not true. Not entirely. My priorities may be different from most people, but that doesn’t mean I have no use for human contact. I don’t actively seek it out, but if the opportunity presents itself, I usually won’t push it away. And so I was cautious around you at first, but I surprised myself with how quickly I came to value you-and almost even need you, in some ways.
Eventually I even came to realize that, on some level, I was glad you didn’t have a special ability. Because no matter what kind of feelings I may have for you, nothing can stand between me and my evolutionary imperative. Still…I think it’s safe to say that, if I’d had to kill you, it would have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I love you, Heidi.
Sylar
She sat motionless for several seconds, holding the letter limply and staring at it without seeing it. A hundred different emotions assailed her and she fought for control, refusing to let her distress show even though she was completely alone. She was the former First Lady of the United States, dignified, calm, and collected. She would not-could not-cry, scream, or collapse into hysterics.
Almost detachedly, she noticed her hands were shaking, and she clasped them together tightly. Her fingernails bit into her skin, the pain serving to distract her slightly, but not enough. She closed her eyes, and without warning or permission her mind traveled back to the months following the accident that had left her wheelchair-bound. She recalled in sharp detail the emotions she’d battled every minute of every day-the grief, rage, fear and despair, but most of all, the overwhelming helplessness.
This was like being paralyzed all over again. Except this time she knew, with cold certainty that pierced like a needle, that no miracle would bring Nathan back to her. Nothing could undo the damage that Sylar had caused.
Finally, she unclasped her hands and picked up the letter from her husband’s murderer. With slow, deliberate calm, she folded it neatly, sharpening the paper’s creases, and placed it on top of the dresser. Still moving robotically, she climbed into bed and lay staring directly at the ceiling, refusing to let her eyes drift towards the dresser. Several long hours passed before her muscles-drawn tight as bowstrings-involuntarily relaxed, her gaze lost its focus, and she drifted into a restless, troubled sleep.
* * *
“Heidi? Heidi!”
She jolted awake with a strangled gasp, automatically shying away from the figure that loomed over her bed.
“Whoa, Heidi, take it easy,” the intruder said in a familiar voice, and she slowly relaxed as she recognized her brother-in-law.
“You okay?” Peter asked, his hazel eyes displaying a hint of concern as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “You were having a nightmare.”
She closed her eyes, but remembered only quick, shadowy flashes of faces she knew she would rather not identify. “I’m fine. I’ve forgotten it already,” she replied, attempting a smile that was halfway successful but faded quickly. She cast a glance at the dresser, and her throat tightened. “Peter…”
His eyebrows drew together as he saw the look on her face. “What is it?”
Heidi took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling herself before looking Peter in the eye. “He wrote to me.”
“Who?” Peter’s expression morphed from concern to confusion, then ended on astonishment as realization dawned. “Sylar?”
Heidi could only nod.
“That son of a-” Peter cut himself off with a visible effort, his eyes blazing and his jaw working rapidly. His breath hissed between clenched teeth as he fought to calm himself. “Can you tell me what he said?”
She hesitated a moment before gesturing to the dresser. “You can read it. It’s over there.”
Peter was at the dresser so quickly she briefly wondered if he’d flown there. He jerked the letter open, nearly ripping it in the process, and paced as he read. Heidi watched his eyes burn with fury as they skimmed down the page.
When he finished, he tossed the letter back onto the dresser with such force that it whipped across the smooth surface and nearly fell down the back. Heidi knew she would likely never forget the look of rage that contorted his usually handsome face.
“That sick bastard!” he spat, seething. “As if he’s even capable of anything resembling love!”
Heidi turned away, forcing back the bile that suddenly rose in her throat. Images of Nathan-or the man she’d thought was Nathan-flashed before her eyes. Nathan dressed impeccably in a crisp suit and tie, expertly delivering an inspiring speech to the nation. Nathan smiling at her, the quiet, almost secretive smile that was for her alone. Nathan’s arms encircling her, his hands running through her hair, his lips against her neck…
Her entire chest constricted painfully, and for an awful second she was certain she was going to vomit. It was a lie. It had all been a lie. How could I not have known?
“Peter,” she choked out, a ragged plea, and she winced at the raw desperation in her own voice.
He returned to her side instantly, winding his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Heidi,” he said, his voice low and rough with his own grief. “I’m so sorry.”
She sagged against him, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and finally allowed herself to cry.
* * *
Part two here.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Heidi, Peter
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,085
Summary: What do you do when you discover the man you thought was your husband is actually your husband's murderer?
Notes: This is set in the "Five Years Gone" universe and takes place after that episode. I'm not sure if post-5YG fics are technically even possible, so I'll call this an AU just to be safe.
This story is meant to take place after my first Sylar/Heidi fic, Complicated, but it's not particularly necessary to have read that one first.
Um...it's angsty. But that should go without saying, hehe.
The first letter came several months after America discovered its president wasn’t exactly who he claimed to be.
For former First Lady Heidi Petrelli, the memory of those months consisted mainly of a long blur, interspersed with brief instances of sharp, agonizing clarity. She remembered perfectly the moment the whole nightmare had started-beginning with the sudden appearance of her brother-in-law, Peter.
She hadn’t seen Peter in years, not since his falling-out with Nathan, which had taken place a short time after Nathan was elected president. Seeing him again had come as a shock in more ways than one. She hadn’t expected that he would be so changed-not only in appearance, but even more in personality-that she would barely recognize him. She hadn’t expected him to look like he’d just seen the beginning of World War III-fresh bruises still healing, dried blood encrusted on his face, clothing hanging off of him in shreds. And she certainly had never expected him to inform her that Nathan was dead, had been dead for months if not years, and that the man she’d thought was her husband was actually a psychopathic mass murderer. A mass murderer who, in spite of Peter’s best efforts, was currently at large, his whereabouts completely unknown.
And even as everyone around her was thrown into a frenzy of shock and disbelief, Heidi’s primary sensation was that of strange, merciful numbness.
As a new president took over the reeling nation, she and the boys moved permanently back into the mansion in Manhattan, where the numbness gave way to grief that nearly swallowed her whole. She’d always been possessed of a fierce determination-Nathan would have called it sheer stubbornness-that had allowed her to fight through whatever circumstances life chose to throw at her, and come out on the other side with her sanity intact.
Her husband’s killer had taken that stubborn determination and shattered it like porcelain hitting concrete. Everywhere she heard his name-Sylar-spoken in hushed tones as though saying it aloud would make him appear from thin air and obliterate them all with a wave of his hand. Some spoke of him with pure fear in their voices. Others-like Peter-hissed his name with hatred in their eyes that bordered on madness. Heidi knew only that it was a name she never wanted to hear again, yet was unable to escape. The temptation to shut down completely-to barricade herself in her bedroom and never come out-was nearly overwhelming.
But time marched relentlessly on, pushing her with it. And slowly, the remnants of her hardheadedness returned. It was all that kept her going.
It seemed odd at first, returning to a semblance of normal life after having lived in the White House. But in all honesty, she didn’t mind falling back into the pattern of everyday life’s ordinary tasks-watering flowers, shopping for groceries, checking the mail. The mundane chores gave her something to keep her busy, something to prevent her from thinking, remembering. It didn’t even matter that she barely noticed the flowers’ bright colors, or that all food tasted like cardboard, or that nothing noteworthy ever came in the mail.
Until one day she received a plain white envelope, addressed to her in handwriting she didn’t recognize.
She separated it from the rest of the mail and looked it over, her curiosity piqued in spite of herself. Her name and address were printed in simple black ink, in handwriting that was rather straightforward, no-nonsense, and-she guessed-probably masculine. The envelope contained no return address and no other clue as to the sender’s identity.
She waited until she had returned to the house, discarded the rest of the mail, and climbed the stairs to her bedroom before she unsealed the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of paper. She unfolded it carefully, revealing words written in the same neat, black print as that from the envelope.
And for no particular reason, her heart skipped uncomfortably in her chest as she began to read.
Hello, Heidi.
I would say I hope things are going well with you, but somehow I doubt you would appreciate the sentiment. I’m sure that by now, your brother-in-law has told you all sorts of stories about me, about the things I’ve done in the past. No doubt you find his testimony more trustworthy than you would mine, but still…you’d do well not to believe everything he tells you. He’s got a bit of a checkered past, himself.
But enough about Peter. I’ve found myself thinking about you a lot, Heidi, ever since my true identity was discovered and I was forced to re-think my plans. For that matter, I’ve been thinking about you a lot for the past several years, now. I tried not to, at first-because you’re not special. You’re not like me, or Nathan, or Peter. You’re just one of the ordinary millions destined to be killed off in the process of natural selection. You shouldn’t have been anything but a blip on my radar.
Yet somehow, you managed to beat the odds. Before you, I had people grouped into two categories: those who were special, and those who weren’t. Simple, really. There was no in between, no gray area. And of course, you were originally just a member of the latter group, those people who warranted my attention only if they got in my way or if they could be of some use to me. But somewhere along the line, things changed.
I’ve always had a knack for seeing how things work-and that includes people, to some extent. People are just like complex machines, if you think about it. All the different parts fit together in a certain way, same as a watch or a car or anything else. In a watch, if one part is missing, damaged or even just a little bit loose, the entire watch is “off.” Broken. Defective. And it’s the same with people.
When I killed Nathan, I broke you. I didn’t notice it at first, but as time passed, it became more and more unmistakable. Even though you didn’t know he was dead, you could still tell something was wrong-and the more desperate you became, the harder it was for me to ignore you. Because when something around me is broken, I can’t just overlook it. I have to fix it. Of course, fixing people is sometimes more difficult than fixing watches. More time-consuming, too. But I enjoyed the challenge you presented, Heidi-the dilemma of spending time around you while simultaneously keeping you from suspecting I wasn’t really Nathan. (I admit there was more than one occasion when you came a little too close to the truth, and I had to have your memories…altered a little.)
At some point, though, I began to realize that my time with you had become more than just the challenge of fixing what I had broken. I found myself looking forward to seeing you-and I found your company to be more enjoyable than I had anticipated. You probably think I’m some kind of unfeeling monster who cares for nothing but power, but that’s really not true. Not entirely. My priorities may be different from most people, but that doesn’t mean I have no use for human contact. I don’t actively seek it out, but if the opportunity presents itself, I usually won’t push it away. And so I was cautious around you at first, but I surprised myself with how quickly I came to value you-and almost even need you, in some ways.
Eventually I even came to realize that, on some level, I was glad you didn’t have a special ability. Because no matter what kind of feelings I may have for you, nothing can stand between me and my evolutionary imperative. Still…I think it’s safe to say that, if I’d had to kill you, it would have been one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.
I love you, Heidi.
Sylar
She sat motionless for several seconds, holding the letter limply and staring at it without seeing it. A hundred different emotions assailed her and she fought for control, refusing to let her distress show even though she was completely alone. She was the former First Lady of the United States, dignified, calm, and collected. She would not-could not-cry, scream, or collapse into hysterics.
Almost detachedly, she noticed her hands were shaking, and she clasped them together tightly. Her fingernails bit into her skin, the pain serving to distract her slightly, but not enough. She closed her eyes, and without warning or permission her mind traveled back to the months following the accident that had left her wheelchair-bound. She recalled in sharp detail the emotions she’d battled every minute of every day-the grief, rage, fear and despair, but most of all, the overwhelming helplessness.
This was like being paralyzed all over again. Except this time she knew, with cold certainty that pierced like a needle, that no miracle would bring Nathan back to her. Nothing could undo the damage that Sylar had caused.
Finally, she unclasped her hands and picked up the letter from her husband’s murderer. With slow, deliberate calm, she folded it neatly, sharpening the paper’s creases, and placed it on top of the dresser. Still moving robotically, she climbed into bed and lay staring directly at the ceiling, refusing to let her eyes drift towards the dresser. Several long hours passed before her muscles-drawn tight as bowstrings-involuntarily relaxed, her gaze lost its focus, and she drifted into a restless, troubled sleep.
* * *
“Heidi? Heidi!”
She jolted awake with a strangled gasp, automatically shying away from the figure that loomed over her bed.
“Whoa, Heidi, take it easy,” the intruder said in a familiar voice, and she slowly relaxed as she recognized her brother-in-law.
“You okay?” Peter asked, his hazel eyes displaying a hint of concern as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “You were having a nightmare.”
She closed her eyes, but remembered only quick, shadowy flashes of faces she knew she would rather not identify. “I’m fine. I’ve forgotten it already,” she replied, attempting a smile that was halfway successful but faded quickly. She cast a glance at the dresser, and her throat tightened. “Peter…”
His eyebrows drew together as he saw the look on her face. “What is it?”
Heidi took a deep breath and let it out slowly, steeling herself before looking Peter in the eye. “He wrote to me.”
“Who?” Peter’s expression morphed from concern to confusion, then ended on astonishment as realization dawned. “Sylar?”
Heidi could only nod.
“That son of a-” Peter cut himself off with a visible effort, his eyes blazing and his jaw working rapidly. His breath hissed between clenched teeth as he fought to calm himself. “Can you tell me what he said?”
She hesitated a moment before gesturing to the dresser. “You can read it. It’s over there.”
Peter was at the dresser so quickly she briefly wondered if he’d flown there. He jerked the letter open, nearly ripping it in the process, and paced as he read. Heidi watched his eyes burn with fury as they skimmed down the page.
When he finished, he tossed the letter back onto the dresser with such force that it whipped across the smooth surface and nearly fell down the back. Heidi knew she would likely never forget the look of rage that contorted his usually handsome face.
“That sick bastard!” he spat, seething. “As if he’s even capable of anything resembling love!”
Heidi turned away, forcing back the bile that suddenly rose in her throat. Images of Nathan-or the man she’d thought was Nathan-flashed before her eyes. Nathan dressed impeccably in a crisp suit and tie, expertly delivering an inspiring speech to the nation. Nathan smiling at her, the quiet, almost secretive smile that was for her alone. Nathan’s arms encircling her, his hands running through her hair, his lips against her neck…
Her entire chest constricted painfully, and for an awful second she was certain she was going to vomit. It was a lie. It had all been a lie. How could I not have known?
“Peter,” she choked out, a ragged plea, and she winced at the raw desperation in her own voice.
He returned to her side instantly, winding his arms around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Heidi,” he said, his voice low and rough with his own grief. “I’m so sorry.”
She sagged against him, gripping handfuls of his shirt, and finally allowed herself to cry.
* * *
Part two here.