"The Mystery of the Invisible Man"
It's finally here! Welcome to my first (successful) attempt at a heroes_bigboom story!
Title: "The Mystery of the Invisible Man"
Author: Saena
Fandom: Heroes
Pairings: Peter/Claude, Matt/Mohinder, and some UST Peter/Mohinder and Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG
Also posted at: heroes_bigboom, of course!
Summary: AU. Mohinder Suresh, a geneticist, comes to Ithaca, New York for a conference and stays at a bed-and-breakfast with the strange name of "The Invisible Man". The owner, Peter Petrelli, is nice enough, but a series of odd occurrences and mysterious sounds has Mohinder thinking there might be more to this place than meets the eye.
Accompanying Art by: postal_152, who is awesome. :D
Link to Accompanying Art: here. Note: Spoilers for Part 3 of the story.
Author's Notes: See end of story. Although one note: ~*~*~*~*~ indicates a scene break.
“The Invisible Man,” Mohinder Suresh said, taking a sip of his morning tea. “That’s an unusual name for a guesthouse.”
“Well, it is a B&B, Mohinder,” replied his partner, Matt Parkman, who was gathering papers together for work. “They’re supposed to have character. And, you know, be run by eccentric older couples with a passion for kitschy antiques.” He glanced over Mohinder’s shoulder at the laptop screen. “So that’s where you’re staying for the conference?”
He nodded. “Most of the other guests are staying at a hotel, but it’s so expensive. It’ll be more relaxing at a bed-and-breakfast anyway.”
Matt examined the pictures on the website, leaning his arms over Mohinder’s shoulders to scroll down. “Well, you’re right about one thing- we can’t afford 5 nights for you at a nice hotel and still pay for Molly to go to summer camp.”
Mohinder glanced up from the screen as Matt slid into a chair at the table next to him. “Speaking of which, has she come out of the bathroom yet?”
Matt frowned, then rolled his eyes. “Molly, your hair looks great, no matter what lies the mirror has been telling you! Come on, we need to get you to school!” He gave Mohinder a long-suffering look. “She’s only ten, Mohinder. I didn’t think we’d be dealing with this for another two or three years.”
Mohinder held up a hand. “Please, spare me. I’ve been trying to convince myself that we would never have to see it at all,” he chuckled.
“Say, are you packed yet? You’re leaving pretty early tomorrow. And don’t give me that I’ll-do-it-when-I-get-home-from-the-lab crap. You’re always too tired to get anything done after that.”
Mohinder rolled his eyes and gave his lover a look of playful annoyance. “In that case, I’ll just have to do it when I get back from taking Molly to school, won’t I?”
“That’s my boy.” He leaned in to give Mohinder a peck on the lips, as Molly finally emerged from the bathroom down the hall. Leaning in close, he added, “You better be a quick packer, though. I have plans for you during that time.”
Mohinder lifted the cup of tea to his lips again, smiling.
~*~*~*~*~
The B&B was a small brick house on a side street about five minutes from the main section of town, sandwiched between a few other residences. The neighborhood was friendly and well-kept, and Mohinder could see nothing unusual about the establishment from a first look at it. Dragging his suitcase behind him, he navigated past the gate and knocked at the door.
Somewhere inside, a dog began barking and ran towards the door, which was quickly opened by a surprised-looking young man with dark hair and a handsome face. “Mohinder Suresh?” he asked in a breathless voice.
Mohinder just stood staring, bemused. What happened to “eccentric older couples with a passion for kitschy antiques”?
After a moment of stunned silence, the man continued, “I’m Peter Petrelli. The owner.”
Mohinder shook himself out of his shock. “I’m sorry; of course. Good to meet you. Yes, I’m Mohinder Suresh.”
“Please, come in.” Peter opened the door wider to admit him, then lunged down to catch the collar of an excited cocker spaniel that was rushing forward to meet Mohinder. “Sorry about the dog. I wasn’t expecting you quite this early. I was going to put her out back before anyone showed up.”
“It’s not a problem, really.” Mohinder reached down to scratch behind the ears of the appreciative dog. “What’s her name?”
Peter seemed pleased at Mohinder’s interest. “This is Billie. Just got her a year ago from the pound.” When Mohinder straightened up again, he said, “How about I show you your room?”
The house, though it certainly fit the bill in the sense that it was old and quaint, was curiously devoid of the sort of knickknacks that Mohinder had been expecting. The decor was elegant but comfortable; nothing overdone, but accented with just enough curious things that it lent the whole place an air of mystery. On their way to the stairs, they passed a small living room and a dining room. At the end of the hallway, next to the stairs, was a swing door with a “Do Not Enter” sign attached to it. “The kitchen, the study, and my bedroom are through there,” Peter informed him. “I keep those rooms off-limits.”
When they had made their way up the stairs, Peter took out a set of keys and unlocked the room closest to them. “This is your room,” he said, ushering Mohinder in. It was a quietly dignified room, wooden-paneled walls and a medium-sized window looking out into the small backyard. The bed was simple and not large, made up with plain white sheets and a dark-colored comforter. The general air was of intellect and slight antiquity.
“It’s lovely,” Mohinder said. It was an understatement; he thought it might just be perfect.
Again, Peter looked pleased. “Normally it’s difficult to get the single room, but only two of the other rooms are booked for the time you’re here, so you lucked out. We’re not expecting the others until later this evening, though; you might not run into them until breakfast.”
“How many rooms do you have here?” Mohinder asked.
“Four. Three doubles and this one is a single.” Peter started giving the necessary information. “I’ll need to know what time you’ll want to have breakfast each morning, and what you want to eat. I have all the usual stuff, so just let me know the night before. Also, I normally don’t cook breakfast after 10:00, so keep that in mind.” Mohinder nodded, and he continued. “Like I said before, my rooms are off-limits, so if you need me for anything, just ring the bell in the hallway here and I’ll come to you. Aside from that, the rest of the house is open to you. You can watch TV in the living room if you want, and you’re free to use the front and back yards as well.”
Peter led him out into the hallway again, pointing out a small bathroom. “You’ll be sharing this with the guy who’ll be staying in the double on this floor. The others have their own bathroom upstairs.” He fished in his pocket and handed Mohinder a key. “The smaller one gets you into your room, and the other is for you to let yourself into the house if I’m not around.” He smiled brightly. “Any questions?”
Mohinder shook his head. “No, this is great, Peter. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Peter said, flashing him another grin. “I’ll let you get settled in now.”
After he left, Mohinder sank down onto the bed, gazing at the room around him. This was nothing like he had expected. Perhaps that was a good thing.
~*~*~*~*~
The next morning, Mohinder woke up to country music.
He started awake, face smushed into the pillow, and it took a second for him to realize that what had woken him was a twangy guitar melody and a female voice warbling about a relationship gone wrong. The cause, of course, was the clock radio he had set before he went to bed. Switching it off, Mohinder vowed to change the setting to a classical station before the next morning.
He hadn’t been planning to unpack his suitcase, but the wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room had looked so appealing that he had eventually gone ahead and put his clothes in there. Now he picked out a suit to wear, trying not to think about the fact that he had hours upon hours of mind-numbing presentations to sit through in the coming days.
As he left his room to go downstairs, he glanced over at the guest room across from his. The door was closed, and Mohinder thought he heard the faint rustle of movement inside. He hadn’t yet glimpsed its occupant; late in the evening Peter had escorted the man to his room, and Mohinder had only peeked out the door in time to see the back of a young man with slightly spiky dark hair, carrying a guitar case. The man hadn’t left the room since his arrival.
The sound of an excited, heavily accented voice led him to the dining room as much as the smell of the food did. He stepped through the doorway and saw two Japanese men sitting at a small table. He quickly determined that the loud voice belonged to one of them, a round, geeky-looking man furiously chatting up an amused-looking Peter as he brewed another pot of coffee. The other appeared to be more reserved, responding minimally to Peter’s questions and the more social man’s prompting, and appearing more interested in the eggs on his plate.
“Mohinder!” Peter exclaimed as he entered the door. “You’re up! Now, you said just toast and some cereal, right?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Mohinder smiled at the other guests, and received in return an enthusiastic grin from one and a tight smile from the other.
“This is Hiro Nakamura and his friend, Ando Masahashi. They’re first-time visitors to the United States. Hiro, Ando, this is Mohinder Suresh.” Mohinder shook both their hands. “Help yourself to some coffee and cereal. I’ll be back in a sec with the toast.”
Mohinder bent down and patted Billie, who was lying contentedly by the door, and poured himself a cup of hot water from the pot next to the coffee, selecting a tea bag and steeping it in the cup. He could sense the excited one, Hiro, watching him with interest; even Ando glanced up at him as he sat down.
It quickly became obvious that he was not going to be able to have breakfast separately from them, so he turned and asked, “So what brings you to New York?”
Hiro’s eyes widened with happiness, and Mohinder was momentarily frightened; he thought it might be dangerous for the other man to get any more excited. “We come to see New York City! Broadway show, Central Park...” he trailed off and looked at Ando for assistance.
“Statue of Liberty,” Ando muttered.
“Yes! Statue of Liberty,” Hiro continued, stumbling slightly over the word ‘liberty.’ “But Ithaca is beautiful town. We stay here to see waterfalls and plan rest of trip.”
Mohinder was about to ask where they intended to go next, when the third and final other guest appeared in the doorway. Generally speaking, he was a very attractive man. He had dark hair, which was in fact spiked slightly at the top; thick dark eyebrows; a lean figure; and earnest brown eyes. But despite this, there was something cold about him: a tension in his bearing, a flicker of sharpness in those eyes.
He noticed that Hiro had fallen silent, and tore his eyes away from the new man, taking a sip of his cooling tea. There was an allure to this man, but danger as well. Mohinder couldn’t decide whether it excited or intimidated him.
There were footsteps in the hall, and then Peter burst back in, saying, “Toast’s up!” He stopped in his tracks momentarily at the sight of the stranger. “Oh! Morning, Zane,” he recovered, setting the toast down in front of Mohinder. “Everyone, this is Zane Taylor. Zane, this is Mohinder Suresh, Hiro Nakamura, and Ando Masahashi.” He paused nervously, and then said, “You had eggs and bacon, right?”
Zane smiled, a friendly smile. “That’s right, Peter.”
Peter smiled back, but it was tight. “Right. I’ll be right back with that, then.” He left the room again.
Mohinder’s eyes remained fixed on Peter’s retreating figure. It was obvious that this fourth guest, Zane, made him uncomfortable, and Mohinder could see why. For all his attractiveness and earnest expressions, there was something...almost animal about him. He didn’t want to seem impolite, so he offered a small smile to Zane, and received one in return.
Conversation was scattered and hesitant until Peter came back, handing Zane his eggs and bacon and sitting down opposite them at the table. With the other man’s friendly presence, Mohinder finally got up the courage to talk openly. “So Peter, what brings a man like you to the bed-and-breakfast business?”
Peter smiled. “Not by my family’s choice, that’s for sure.” At Mohinder’s questioning look, he elaborated, “I come from kind of a wealthy family; lots of lawyers. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps like my brother did, but I wanted to really interact with people. So a couple years after I finished college, I opened this place.”
“You had American dream,” Hiro said solemnly around a mouthful of toast.
Peter laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“And your brother studied law?” Mohinder asked.
“Yeah,” Peter said. “He became a politician. You might have heard of him, actually, he’s running for Congress- Nathan Petrelli.” The name sounded familiar; Mohinder thought he might have seen some of his campaign advertisements on his way to work in the mornings. “Not that there’s anything wrong with what he’s doing. I just don’t think running for office is the only way to help people.”
“No,” said Zane, startling everybody when he spoke. “No, I agree. It isn’t the only way to make the world a better place.”
“Right,” Peter said, turning back to the others and smiling.
Confident now that he wasn’t prying, Mohinder asked another question. “And if you don’t mind me asking, how did this place get its name?”
Peter grinned. “I’m a big Claude Raines fan,” he said playfully.
Just then, there was a crash from the kitchen. Peter froze in his seat, then stood up quickly. “Probably Billie making a mess,” he stammered. “Excuse me, guys.”
He hurried out through the door. As he left, Mohinder saw the dog still sitting by the doorway, looking back at him.
~*~*~*~*~
When he returned from the conference late in the afternoon, he found Peter already in the driveway, unloading bags of groceries from the open trunk of his car. He looked up, startled, at the sound of Mohinder’s car pulling in beside him, but smiled when he saw its occupant. “Hey, Mohinder,” he greeted.
Mohinder stepped out of the car. “Let me help you with those.”
“That’s okay, I got it,” Peter demurred, but he didn’t protest when Mohinder picked up two of the bags anyway. “Careful, that one has eggs in it.” He shifted the bags further up in his arms to gain access to the key in his pocket, pushing the door open with the side of his foot. “Billie’s out back right now, so we don’t have to worry about her charging us.” He gestured to a spot on the floor, next to the table. “Just put them down here, I’ll take care of them in a sec.”
As he set down the paper bags, Mohinder’s attention was drawn to a painting hanging above the table. It was an eerie image, of a dark background accented by only three recognizable features: a clock, paused by the artist’s creative hand at 8:12; a set of stairs; and an ominous shadow extending over the entire scene. He stared at it for a moment. “This painting is rather remarkable.”
Peter glanced up. “Oh, that’s by Isaac Mendez. He’s an artist from New York City, a family friend. I have a lot of his work hanging in this house.”
Now that he thought about it, Mohinder remembered that he had seen a similar painting in his room- similar enough to be done by the same artist. That one was a more generic piece- simply a view of New York City from what appeared to be an upper balcony- but again, it had a somewhat disquieting quality to it. The colors were washed out, a sort of beige and grey. It felt like a desolate version of the city, although there was nothing in the painting to directly indicate this. “Is there a story behind it?”
“Well, Isaac’s usual medium is comic books, so there probably is a story to go along with them. But he sold them to me, so they must have been ideas he didn’t use in his comics.” Peter grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “I thought they added atmosphere to the place.”
That certainly couldn’t be denied. “I guess it’s time for a nap,” Mohinder said, as he unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn. As Peter began to carry the groceries into the kitchen area, Mohinder shuffled upstairs and sat heavily on the bed. He lingered in that position for a few moments, debating whether to call Matt before he checked the time and realized he was still at work; half an hour yet before he would leave and pick up Molly from her friend’s house. Sighing, he let himself fall back onto the bed, closing his eyes and curling up for a nap. The only sounds were the voices of Hiro and Ando in the backyard, drifting in through the open window, Peter chatting with them from the kitchen, and the responding barks of Billie as they played with her.
Before he could get to sleep, though, his eyes fluttered open again. There was a sound outside his door. Someone on the stairs above? Mohinder, more unnerved than he’d realized, jolted up from the bed and took several careful steps toward his bedroom door. Barely making a sound, he pressed his ear to the door, trying to discern if there was anyone on the other side. Nothing happened.
Probably Zane, he thought. But he could have sworn Zane’s door was open when he passed it, and no one was inside. Still, it was possible he had been somewhere else in the house. Mohinder shook it off and climbed back into bed, finally succumbing to the urge to sleep which had been tugging at him since the last presentation he had to sit through.
He was too far gone to notice the shadow through the space underneath his door, passing once again down the hallway towards the stairs.
~*~*~*~*~
He called home later that night, eager to hear their voices. When Matt’s distracted “Hello?” greeted him on the other line, he felt the tension seep out of his body. “Matt, hello. It’s me.”
“Hey!” Matt said. “How’s the conference?”
Mohinder sighed. “Tiring. Boring. I think all the presentations today might have been exactly the same.”
He heard Matt’s laugh. “It can’t be that bad. You love this stuff.”
“I love studying it,” Mohinder replied. “Thinking about it. Not watching other men present badly composed PowerPoint slides on it.”
“And how about the B&B?” Matt asked. “Seen any invisible men yet?”
“That would defeat the point of their being invisible,” Mohinder joked back. “Seriously, though, the place is great. The guy who runs it, Peter, he’s quite nice, and the other guests are...” he lingered, searching for the best word, “interesting. I like it here.”
“This Peter, is he good looking?” Matt asked.
Mohinder paused for dramatic effect. “Well, yes, I suppose he is.”
Matt made a “humph” sound under his breath. “Well then, hands off, buddy.”
“Oh, so you’re saying you’d only like me to have affairs with unattractive people?” Mohinder said, a smile tugging at his lips.
A strange sound came from the other line; Mohinder suspected Matt had choked on whatever he was eating. “Jesus, Mohinder, don’t say things like that.”
Mohinder succumbed to the laughter that was building inside him. When he had recovered, he said, “I apologize, Matt. That was cruel of me.” He only received another indignant “humph” in return, but he could tell from the tone that Matt was not offended. “Is Molly there? I’d like to say hello to her.”
“Sure thing, Mohinder,” Matt said, and he heard the other man call down the hall to their daughter. Moments later, a new voice came on the phone.
“Hi Dad!”
He would never tire of hearing her say that. “Hello, sweetheart,” he answered. “How was school today?”
“Fun! We had a book fair. My English class went.”
“And did you buy anything?”
“Yeah,” she replied
“Dostoevsky?” he asked hopefully.
She giggled. “No, Harry Potter.”
He smiled. “And everything’s okay at home? Matt didn’t make you eat any of that greasy take-out fried chicken, did he?”
“No, we got Chinese,” she told him. “Matt even ordered some veggies, so it would be like you were here. I ate most of them, though.”
“Good girl,” he said. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad. Good night.”
He hung up the phone, missing his family more than ever.
~*~*~*~*~
The next morning, still bleary-eyed from sleep, Mohinder shuffled out of his room to the bathroom- and straight into Zane Taylor.
“Oh! Sorry- Mohinder, was it?” the man said pleasantly, steadying Mohinder’s sleepy wobble with a hand on his shoulder. Everything about Zane’s behavior was projecting friendliness and charm, but when Mohinder finally got his eyes to focus and looked up into Zane’s face, he inexplicably found himself struck with the same thrill of danger he’d felt when the man first entered the dining room the previous day. He shrank back slightly as the feeling washed through him, but regained his composure within a moment and returned the smile.
“That’s okay,” he reassured Zane. “Were you headed for the bathroom as well?”
“Just finished, actually,” the other man said, and Mohinder noticed that his hair was still damp from the shower. “It’s all yours.”
Mohinder nodded, his brain still waking up. “Oh. Thank you, Zane,” he replied, and navigated past him into the bathroom. Their shoulders brushed together as he passed, and he thought he felt Zane’s gaze linger on him before the fellow houseguest turned and retreated into his bedroom.
He was the first one to make it downstairs; he had heard the footsteps of Hiro and Ando in the upstairs hallway, signaling that they were awake but had not made an appearance. Zane, while he’d had a head start on Mohinder in getting ready, also hadn’t come down. The only person in the dining room when he entered was Peter, sitting at one of the unoccupied tables and working on a crossword puzzle. There was something endearing about the younger man’s lack of inclination to stand on ceremony, to create distance just because he was the owner and Mohinder was a guest.
“Morning,” Peter said when he saw Mohinder, holding back a slight yawn. He set down his crossword puzzle after finishing the word he was working on. “Be back in a second with breakfast.”
“Take your time,” Mohinder encouraged, in no hurry to face what today held in the conference. He made himself a cup of tea and stood by the wide window facing out into the front yard, soaking up the weaker sunlight of early morning as he waited for the tea to steep. Momentarily he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Zane entering the room, smiling at him and heading straight for the coffee. By the time Peter came back with his breakfast, the two Japanese guests had also come tumbling down the stairs; Hiro all loud voice and excited gestures as usual, Ando still reserved but a little looser, the smile more ready on his face.
The rest of their breakfasts came in short order, but when Peter came back in to sit with them he seemed more uncomfortable than he had when Mohinder had seen him at the beginning of the morning. He sat down in his chair and made small talk, but his fingers were clenched tightly in his lap and he seemed uneasy. All of the other guests seemed a little puzzled about this change as well, but nobody made any comment about it.
“So how’d you like the museum yesterday, Hiro?” Peter asked, trying to disguise the way his voice broke when he spoke.
Hiro launched into an enthusiastic description of his and Ando’s trip from the previous day, and the general focus shifted off of Peter. Mohinder, too, tried to dismiss it- perhaps Peter wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want attention drawn to it. But then something flickered in the corner of his vision, like it was passing in and out of visibility, and he glanced quickly back.
Peter was now clenching the seat of the chair tight enough that his knuckles were white, and his eyes were wide. Mohinder gave him a concerned look, and Peter forced a smile and tried to pass it off as nothing, straightening up in his seat and attempting to look more normal.
Mohinder wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, though. “Something wrong, Peter?” Zane asked innocently over a mouthful of toast.
Peter looked up at him, an expression somewhat like panic flashing through his eyes. “Fine,” he lied, doing the forced smile thing again with Zane. “Just a headache, that’s all.”
Zane gave him another endearing smile. “Why don’t you go and rest for a bit, then? We’ll finish up here and you can do the rest later.”
Peter seemed to consider it. He shifted as though to rise from his chair, but then sat down heavily again, casting his eyes uncomfortably to the side. “No, really, it’s fine,” he repeated. “I’ll be all right in a second.”
He seemed to be staunchly refusing to look at Zane, and Mohinder felt a moment of possible clarity. The two had never seemed to take a liking to each other in the few times he had been in the room with them; could it be that Zane’s presence was making Peter anxious? The owner seemed all right when it was just him and Mohinder. Maybe he had picked up on the same vibes that Mohinder had, only he found them more disturbing than attractive. Mohinder found himself puzzled at that. Sure, he didn’t know much about Zane’s history, and there was something about him that put his senses on edge. But it didn’t seem like Peter to take such an instant dislike to someone before getting to know them; it went against everything he’d seen so far of the good-natured bed-and-breakfast owner. There must be something else wrong, something he wasn’t seeing.
Eventually Zane and the others started leaving the room, to prepare for the activities their days held. Peter launched himself out of his chair and started hurriedly clearing plates from the tables. Mohinder paused at the door, thinking to say something to the man, but thought better of it and went upstairs to his room instead.
The only other abnormal thing he sensed that morning occurred as he was going out the door to drive to the university. As he fiddled with the door lock, still getting the hang of opening it, he could have sworn he heard a voice from somewhere nearby, just the barest thread of a whisper carried to his ears. He paused, listening more closely, but no more sound could be heard, and he dismissed it and went on his way.
~*~*~*~*~
On to Part 2
Title: "The Mystery of the Invisible Man"
Author: Saena
Fandom: Heroes
Pairings: Peter/Claude, Matt/Mohinder, and some UST Peter/Mohinder and Mohinder/Sylar
Rating: PG
Also posted at: heroes_bigboom, of course!
Summary: AU. Mohinder Suresh, a geneticist, comes to Ithaca, New York for a conference and stays at a bed-and-breakfast with the strange name of "The Invisible Man". The owner, Peter Petrelli, is nice enough, but a series of odd occurrences and mysterious sounds has Mohinder thinking there might be more to this place than meets the eye.
Accompanying Art by: postal_152, who is awesome. :D
Link to Accompanying Art: here. Note: Spoilers for Part 3 of the story.
Author's Notes: See end of story. Although one note: ~*~*~*~*~ indicates a scene break.
“The Invisible Man,” Mohinder Suresh said, taking a sip of his morning tea. “That’s an unusual name for a guesthouse.”
“Well, it is a B&B, Mohinder,” replied his partner, Matt Parkman, who was gathering papers together for work. “They’re supposed to have character. And, you know, be run by eccentric older couples with a passion for kitschy antiques.” He glanced over Mohinder’s shoulder at the laptop screen. “So that’s where you’re staying for the conference?”
He nodded. “Most of the other guests are staying at a hotel, but it’s so expensive. It’ll be more relaxing at a bed-and-breakfast anyway.”
Matt examined the pictures on the website, leaning his arms over Mohinder’s shoulders to scroll down. “Well, you’re right about one thing- we can’t afford 5 nights for you at a nice hotel and still pay for Molly to go to summer camp.”
Mohinder glanced up from the screen as Matt slid into a chair at the table next to him. “Speaking of which, has she come out of the bathroom yet?”
Matt frowned, then rolled his eyes. “Molly, your hair looks great, no matter what lies the mirror has been telling you! Come on, we need to get you to school!” He gave Mohinder a long-suffering look. “She’s only ten, Mohinder. I didn’t think we’d be dealing with this for another two or three years.”
Mohinder held up a hand. “Please, spare me. I’ve been trying to convince myself that we would never have to see it at all,” he chuckled.
“Say, are you packed yet? You’re leaving pretty early tomorrow. And don’t give me that I’ll-do-it-when-I-get-home-from-the-lab crap. You’re always too tired to get anything done after that.”
Mohinder rolled his eyes and gave his lover a look of playful annoyance. “In that case, I’ll just have to do it when I get back from taking Molly to school, won’t I?”
“That’s my boy.” He leaned in to give Mohinder a peck on the lips, as Molly finally emerged from the bathroom down the hall. Leaning in close, he added, “You better be a quick packer, though. I have plans for you during that time.”
Mohinder lifted the cup of tea to his lips again, smiling.
~*~*~*~*~
The B&B was a small brick house on a side street about five minutes from the main section of town, sandwiched between a few other residences. The neighborhood was friendly and well-kept, and Mohinder could see nothing unusual about the establishment from a first look at it. Dragging his suitcase behind him, he navigated past the gate and knocked at the door.
Somewhere inside, a dog began barking and ran towards the door, which was quickly opened by a surprised-looking young man with dark hair and a handsome face. “Mohinder Suresh?” he asked in a breathless voice.
Mohinder just stood staring, bemused. What happened to “eccentric older couples with a passion for kitschy antiques”?
After a moment of stunned silence, the man continued, “I’m Peter Petrelli. The owner.”
Mohinder shook himself out of his shock. “I’m sorry; of course. Good to meet you. Yes, I’m Mohinder Suresh.”
“Please, come in.” Peter opened the door wider to admit him, then lunged down to catch the collar of an excited cocker spaniel that was rushing forward to meet Mohinder. “Sorry about the dog. I wasn’t expecting you quite this early. I was going to put her out back before anyone showed up.”
“It’s not a problem, really.” Mohinder reached down to scratch behind the ears of the appreciative dog. “What’s her name?”
Peter seemed pleased at Mohinder’s interest. “This is Billie. Just got her a year ago from the pound.” When Mohinder straightened up again, he said, “How about I show you your room?”
The house, though it certainly fit the bill in the sense that it was old and quaint, was curiously devoid of the sort of knickknacks that Mohinder had been expecting. The decor was elegant but comfortable; nothing overdone, but accented with just enough curious things that it lent the whole place an air of mystery. On their way to the stairs, they passed a small living room and a dining room. At the end of the hallway, next to the stairs, was a swing door with a “Do Not Enter” sign attached to it. “The kitchen, the study, and my bedroom are through there,” Peter informed him. “I keep those rooms off-limits.”
When they had made their way up the stairs, Peter took out a set of keys and unlocked the room closest to them. “This is your room,” he said, ushering Mohinder in. It was a quietly dignified room, wooden-paneled walls and a medium-sized window looking out into the small backyard. The bed was simple and not large, made up with plain white sheets and a dark-colored comforter. The general air was of intellect and slight antiquity.
“It’s lovely,” Mohinder said. It was an understatement; he thought it might just be perfect.
Again, Peter looked pleased. “Normally it’s difficult to get the single room, but only two of the other rooms are booked for the time you’re here, so you lucked out. We’re not expecting the others until later this evening, though; you might not run into them until breakfast.”
“How many rooms do you have here?” Mohinder asked.
“Four. Three doubles and this one is a single.” Peter started giving the necessary information. “I’ll need to know what time you’ll want to have breakfast each morning, and what you want to eat. I have all the usual stuff, so just let me know the night before. Also, I normally don’t cook breakfast after 10:00, so keep that in mind.” Mohinder nodded, and he continued. “Like I said before, my rooms are off-limits, so if you need me for anything, just ring the bell in the hallway here and I’ll come to you. Aside from that, the rest of the house is open to you. You can watch TV in the living room if you want, and you’re free to use the front and back yards as well.”
Peter led him out into the hallway again, pointing out a small bathroom. “You’ll be sharing this with the guy who’ll be staying in the double on this floor. The others have their own bathroom upstairs.” He fished in his pocket and handed Mohinder a key. “The smaller one gets you into your room, and the other is for you to let yourself into the house if I’m not around.” He smiled brightly. “Any questions?”
Mohinder shook his head. “No, this is great, Peter. Thank you.”
“No problem,” Peter said, flashing him another grin. “I’ll let you get settled in now.”
After he left, Mohinder sank down onto the bed, gazing at the room around him. This was nothing like he had expected. Perhaps that was a good thing.
~*~*~*~*~
The next morning, Mohinder woke up to country music.
He started awake, face smushed into the pillow, and it took a second for him to realize that what had woken him was a twangy guitar melody and a female voice warbling about a relationship gone wrong. The cause, of course, was the clock radio he had set before he went to bed. Switching it off, Mohinder vowed to change the setting to a classical station before the next morning.
He hadn’t been planning to unpack his suitcase, but the wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room had looked so appealing that he had eventually gone ahead and put his clothes in there. Now he picked out a suit to wear, trying not to think about the fact that he had hours upon hours of mind-numbing presentations to sit through in the coming days.
As he left his room to go downstairs, he glanced over at the guest room across from his. The door was closed, and Mohinder thought he heard the faint rustle of movement inside. He hadn’t yet glimpsed its occupant; late in the evening Peter had escorted the man to his room, and Mohinder had only peeked out the door in time to see the back of a young man with slightly spiky dark hair, carrying a guitar case. The man hadn’t left the room since his arrival.
The sound of an excited, heavily accented voice led him to the dining room as much as the smell of the food did. He stepped through the doorway and saw two Japanese men sitting at a small table. He quickly determined that the loud voice belonged to one of them, a round, geeky-looking man furiously chatting up an amused-looking Peter as he brewed another pot of coffee. The other appeared to be more reserved, responding minimally to Peter’s questions and the more social man’s prompting, and appearing more interested in the eggs on his plate.
“Mohinder!” Peter exclaimed as he entered the door. “You’re up! Now, you said just toast and some cereal, right?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine.” Mohinder smiled at the other guests, and received in return an enthusiastic grin from one and a tight smile from the other.
“This is Hiro Nakamura and his friend, Ando Masahashi. They’re first-time visitors to the United States. Hiro, Ando, this is Mohinder Suresh.” Mohinder shook both their hands. “Help yourself to some coffee and cereal. I’ll be back in a sec with the toast.”
Mohinder bent down and patted Billie, who was lying contentedly by the door, and poured himself a cup of hot water from the pot next to the coffee, selecting a tea bag and steeping it in the cup. He could sense the excited one, Hiro, watching him with interest; even Ando glanced up at him as he sat down.
It quickly became obvious that he was not going to be able to have breakfast separately from them, so he turned and asked, “So what brings you to New York?”
Hiro’s eyes widened with happiness, and Mohinder was momentarily frightened; he thought it might be dangerous for the other man to get any more excited. “We come to see New York City! Broadway show, Central Park...” he trailed off and looked at Ando for assistance.
“Statue of Liberty,” Ando muttered.
“Yes! Statue of Liberty,” Hiro continued, stumbling slightly over the word ‘liberty.’ “But Ithaca is beautiful town. We stay here to see waterfalls and plan rest of trip.”
Mohinder was about to ask where they intended to go next, when the third and final other guest appeared in the doorway. Generally speaking, he was a very attractive man. He had dark hair, which was in fact spiked slightly at the top; thick dark eyebrows; a lean figure; and earnest brown eyes. But despite this, there was something cold about him: a tension in his bearing, a flicker of sharpness in those eyes.
He noticed that Hiro had fallen silent, and tore his eyes away from the new man, taking a sip of his cooling tea. There was an allure to this man, but danger as well. Mohinder couldn’t decide whether it excited or intimidated him.
There were footsteps in the hall, and then Peter burst back in, saying, “Toast’s up!” He stopped in his tracks momentarily at the sight of the stranger. “Oh! Morning, Zane,” he recovered, setting the toast down in front of Mohinder. “Everyone, this is Zane Taylor. Zane, this is Mohinder Suresh, Hiro Nakamura, and Ando Masahashi.” He paused nervously, and then said, “You had eggs and bacon, right?”
Zane smiled, a friendly smile. “That’s right, Peter.”
Peter smiled back, but it was tight. “Right. I’ll be right back with that, then.” He left the room again.
Mohinder’s eyes remained fixed on Peter’s retreating figure. It was obvious that this fourth guest, Zane, made him uncomfortable, and Mohinder could see why. For all his attractiveness and earnest expressions, there was something...almost animal about him. He didn’t want to seem impolite, so he offered a small smile to Zane, and received one in return.
Conversation was scattered and hesitant until Peter came back, handing Zane his eggs and bacon and sitting down opposite them at the table. With the other man’s friendly presence, Mohinder finally got up the courage to talk openly. “So Peter, what brings a man like you to the bed-and-breakfast business?”
Peter smiled. “Not by my family’s choice, that’s for sure.” At Mohinder’s questioning look, he elaborated, “I come from kind of a wealthy family; lots of lawyers. They wanted me to follow in their footsteps like my brother did, but I wanted to really interact with people. So a couple years after I finished college, I opened this place.”
“You had American dream,” Hiro said solemnly around a mouthful of toast.
Peter laughed. “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”
“And your brother studied law?” Mohinder asked.
“Yeah,” Peter said. “He became a politician. You might have heard of him, actually, he’s running for Congress- Nathan Petrelli.” The name sounded familiar; Mohinder thought he might have seen some of his campaign advertisements on his way to work in the mornings. “Not that there’s anything wrong with what he’s doing. I just don’t think running for office is the only way to help people.”
“No,” said Zane, startling everybody when he spoke. “No, I agree. It isn’t the only way to make the world a better place.”
“Right,” Peter said, turning back to the others and smiling.
Confident now that he wasn’t prying, Mohinder asked another question. “And if you don’t mind me asking, how did this place get its name?”
Peter grinned. “I’m a big Claude Raines fan,” he said playfully.
Just then, there was a crash from the kitchen. Peter froze in his seat, then stood up quickly. “Probably Billie making a mess,” he stammered. “Excuse me, guys.”
He hurried out through the door. As he left, Mohinder saw the dog still sitting by the doorway, looking back at him.
~*~*~*~*~
When he returned from the conference late in the afternoon, he found Peter already in the driveway, unloading bags of groceries from the open trunk of his car. He looked up, startled, at the sound of Mohinder’s car pulling in beside him, but smiled when he saw its occupant. “Hey, Mohinder,” he greeted.
Mohinder stepped out of the car. “Let me help you with those.”
“That’s okay, I got it,” Peter demurred, but he didn’t protest when Mohinder picked up two of the bags anyway. “Careful, that one has eggs in it.” He shifted the bags further up in his arms to gain access to the key in his pocket, pushing the door open with the side of his foot. “Billie’s out back right now, so we don’t have to worry about her charging us.” He gestured to a spot on the floor, next to the table. “Just put them down here, I’ll take care of them in a sec.”
As he set down the paper bags, Mohinder’s attention was drawn to a painting hanging above the table. It was an eerie image, of a dark background accented by only three recognizable features: a clock, paused by the artist’s creative hand at 8:12; a set of stairs; and an ominous shadow extending over the entire scene. He stared at it for a moment. “This painting is rather remarkable.”
Peter glanced up. “Oh, that’s by Isaac Mendez. He’s an artist from New York City, a family friend. I have a lot of his work hanging in this house.”
Now that he thought about it, Mohinder remembered that he had seen a similar painting in his room- similar enough to be done by the same artist. That one was a more generic piece- simply a view of New York City from what appeared to be an upper balcony- but again, it had a somewhat disquieting quality to it. The colors were washed out, a sort of beige and grey. It felt like a desolate version of the city, although there was nothing in the painting to directly indicate this. “Is there a story behind it?”
“Well, Isaac’s usual medium is comic books, so there probably is a story to go along with them. But he sold them to me, so they must have been ideas he didn’t use in his comics.” Peter grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “I thought they added atmosphere to the place.”
That certainly couldn’t be denied. “I guess it’s time for a nap,” Mohinder said, as he unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn. As Peter began to carry the groceries into the kitchen area, Mohinder shuffled upstairs and sat heavily on the bed. He lingered in that position for a few moments, debating whether to call Matt before he checked the time and realized he was still at work; half an hour yet before he would leave and pick up Molly from her friend’s house. Sighing, he let himself fall back onto the bed, closing his eyes and curling up for a nap. The only sounds were the voices of Hiro and Ando in the backyard, drifting in through the open window, Peter chatting with them from the kitchen, and the responding barks of Billie as they played with her.
Before he could get to sleep, though, his eyes fluttered open again. There was a sound outside his door. Someone on the stairs above? Mohinder, more unnerved than he’d realized, jolted up from the bed and took several careful steps toward his bedroom door. Barely making a sound, he pressed his ear to the door, trying to discern if there was anyone on the other side. Nothing happened.
Probably Zane, he thought. But he could have sworn Zane’s door was open when he passed it, and no one was inside. Still, it was possible he had been somewhere else in the house. Mohinder shook it off and climbed back into bed, finally succumbing to the urge to sleep which had been tugging at him since the last presentation he had to sit through.
He was too far gone to notice the shadow through the space underneath his door, passing once again down the hallway towards the stairs.
~*~*~*~*~
He called home later that night, eager to hear their voices. When Matt’s distracted “Hello?” greeted him on the other line, he felt the tension seep out of his body. “Matt, hello. It’s me.”
“Hey!” Matt said. “How’s the conference?”
Mohinder sighed. “Tiring. Boring. I think all the presentations today might have been exactly the same.”
He heard Matt’s laugh. “It can’t be that bad. You love this stuff.”
“I love studying it,” Mohinder replied. “Thinking about it. Not watching other men present badly composed PowerPoint slides on it.”
“And how about the B&B?” Matt asked. “Seen any invisible men yet?”
“That would defeat the point of their being invisible,” Mohinder joked back. “Seriously, though, the place is great. The guy who runs it, Peter, he’s quite nice, and the other guests are...” he lingered, searching for the best word, “interesting. I like it here.”
“This Peter, is he good looking?” Matt asked.
Mohinder paused for dramatic effect. “Well, yes, I suppose he is.”
Matt made a “humph” sound under his breath. “Well then, hands off, buddy.”
“Oh, so you’re saying you’d only like me to have affairs with unattractive people?” Mohinder said, a smile tugging at his lips.
A strange sound came from the other line; Mohinder suspected Matt had choked on whatever he was eating. “Jesus, Mohinder, don’t say things like that.”
Mohinder succumbed to the laughter that was building inside him. When he had recovered, he said, “I apologize, Matt. That was cruel of me.” He only received another indignant “humph” in return, but he could tell from the tone that Matt was not offended. “Is Molly there? I’d like to say hello to her.”
“Sure thing, Mohinder,” Matt said, and he heard the other man call down the hall to their daughter. Moments later, a new voice came on the phone.
“Hi Dad!”
He would never tire of hearing her say that. “Hello, sweetheart,” he answered. “How was school today?”
“Fun! We had a book fair. My English class went.”
“And did you buy anything?”
“Yeah,” she replied
“Dostoevsky?” he asked hopefully.
She giggled. “No, Harry Potter.”
He smiled. “And everything’s okay at home? Matt didn’t make you eat any of that greasy take-out fried chicken, did he?”
“No, we got Chinese,” she told him. “Matt even ordered some veggies, so it would be like you were here. I ate most of them, though.”
“Good girl,” he said. “I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad. Good night.”
He hung up the phone, missing his family more than ever.
~*~*~*~*~
The next morning, still bleary-eyed from sleep, Mohinder shuffled out of his room to the bathroom- and straight into Zane Taylor.
“Oh! Sorry- Mohinder, was it?” the man said pleasantly, steadying Mohinder’s sleepy wobble with a hand on his shoulder. Everything about Zane’s behavior was projecting friendliness and charm, but when Mohinder finally got his eyes to focus and looked up into Zane’s face, he inexplicably found himself struck with the same thrill of danger he’d felt when the man first entered the dining room the previous day. He shrank back slightly as the feeling washed through him, but regained his composure within a moment and returned the smile.
“That’s okay,” he reassured Zane. “Were you headed for the bathroom as well?”
“Just finished, actually,” the other man said, and Mohinder noticed that his hair was still damp from the shower. “It’s all yours.”
Mohinder nodded, his brain still waking up. “Oh. Thank you, Zane,” he replied, and navigated past him into the bathroom. Their shoulders brushed together as he passed, and he thought he felt Zane’s gaze linger on him before the fellow houseguest turned and retreated into his bedroom.
He was the first one to make it downstairs; he had heard the footsteps of Hiro and Ando in the upstairs hallway, signaling that they were awake but had not made an appearance. Zane, while he’d had a head start on Mohinder in getting ready, also hadn’t come down. The only person in the dining room when he entered was Peter, sitting at one of the unoccupied tables and working on a crossword puzzle. There was something endearing about the younger man’s lack of inclination to stand on ceremony, to create distance just because he was the owner and Mohinder was a guest.
“Morning,” Peter said when he saw Mohinder, holding back a slight yawn. He set down his crossword puzzle after finishing the word he was working on. “Be back in a second with breakfast.”
“Take your time,” Mohinder encouraged, in no hurry to face what today held in the conference. He made himself a cup of tea and stood by the wide window facing out into the front yard, soaking up the weaker sunlight of early morning as he waited for the tea to steep. Momentarily he heard footsteps behind him, and turned to see Zane entering the room, smiling at him and heading straight for the coffee. By the time Peter came back with his breakfast, the two Japanese guests had also come tumbling down the stairs; Hiro all loud voice and excited gestures as usual, Ando still reserved but a little looser, the smile more ready on his face.
The rest of their breakfasts came in short order, but when Peter came back in to sit with them he seemed more uncomfortable than he had when Mohinder had seen him at the beginning of the morning. He sat down in his chair and made small talk, but his fingers were clenched tightly in his lap and he seemed uneasy. All of the other guests seemed a little puzzled about this change as well, but nobody made any comment about it.
“So how’d you like the museum yesterday, Hiro?” Peter asked, trying to disguise the way his voice broke when he spoke.
Hiro launched into an enthusiastic description of his and Ando’s trip from the previous day, and the general focus shifted off of Peter. Mohinder, too, tried to dismiss it- perhaps Peter wasn’t feeling well and didn’t want attention drawn to it. But then something flickered in the corner of his vision, like it was passing in and out of visibility, and he glanced quickly back.
Peter was now clenching the seat of the chair tight enough that his knuckles were white, and his eyes were wide. Mohinder gave him a concerned look, and Peter forced a smile and tried to pass it off as nothing, straightening up in his seat and attempting to look more normal.
Mohinder wasn’t the only one who’d noticed, though. “Something wrong, Peter?” Zane asked innocently over a mouthful of toast.
Peter looked up at him, an expression somewhat like panic flashing through his eyes. “Fine,” he lied, doing the forced smile thing again with Zane. “Just a headache, that’s all.”
Zane gave him another endearing smile. “Why don’t you go and rest for a bit, then? We’ll finish up here and you can do the rest later.”
Peter seemed to consider it. He shifted as though to rise from his chair, but then sat down heavily again, casting his eyes uncomfortably to the side. “No, really, it’s fine,” he repeated. “I’ll be all right in a second.”
He seemed to be staunchly refusing to look at Zane, and Mohinder felt a moment of possible clarity. The two had never seemed to take a liking to each other in the few times he had been in the room with them; could it be that Zane’s presence was making Peter anxious? The owner seemed all right when it was just him and Mohinder. Maybe he had picked up on the same vibes that Mohinder had, only he found them more disturbing than attractive. Mohinder found himself puzzled at that. Sure, he didn’t know much about Zane’s history, and there was something about him that put his senses on edge. But it didn’t seem like Peter to take such an instant dislike to someone before getting to know them; it went against everything he’d seen so far of the good-natured bed-and-breakfast owner. There must be something else wrong, something he wasn’t seeing.
Eventually Zane and the others started leaving the room, to prepare for the activities their days held. Peter launched himself out of his chair and started hurriedly clearing plates from the tables. Mohinder paused at the door, thinking to say something to the man, but thought better of it and went upstairs to his room instead.
The only other abnormal thing he sensed that morning occurred as he was going out the door to drive to the university. As he fiddled with the door lock, still getting the hang of opening it, he could have sworn he heard a voice from somewhere nearby, just the barest thread of a whisper carried to his ears. He paused, listening more closely, but no more sound could be heard, and he dismissed it and went on his way.
~*~*~*~*~
On to Part 2