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His secretary was dead. He had heard her shrill scream in the outer room five minutes ago. And then silence. Horrible mind numbing silence.
Nathan crouched deeper under his desk. His breaths were quick and shallow. He tried not to move. If he didn’t move maybe Sylar wouldn’t be able to find him. He knew that didn’t make sense. Sylar would know exactly where he was hiding and rip off the top of his head without a second thought. He knew that he should have jumped out his office window as soon as he had heard the screams. But part of him, a part that he very rarely acknowledged, wished that Sylar would just break down the Oval Office door and finish the job.
It wasn’t worth it. Despite what his ma and Linderman and every damn person he had ever met had told him the job wasn’t worth shit. The most that he had gotten done in one year was to set up camps for specials so they weren’t a risk to the public and fight with congress over spending for endless months and sleepless nights. And where had that gotten him? Into a civil war, with his brother of all people. Sweet loveable Petey leading rebels through streets, wanting to tear everything with the name ‘Petrelli’ on it down. Who would have thought?
Not him obviously. He should have seen it coming. He should have seen so many things coming and now it was too late—
The oak doors clicked open. Nathan sucked in one final breath of air and didn’t let it go. He decided then that he wasn’t going to die here. Not under his desk in the middle of the afternoon.
Nathan yanked his phone out of his pocket and pressed “1” on the speed dial. He held the phone up to his ear and prayed.
“I’m sorry this number has been disconnected—“
Nathan hung up the phone.
He should have expected as much. Peter hadn’t had a cell phone since he became public enemy number one. And even if he did there wasn’t a chance in hell he’d share the number with Nathan, not now. Probably not ever again.
Nathan pushed back his emotions. He didn’t need those right now. What he needed was a way out. He scrolled down is contact list, the phone casted the underside of his desk in a dead blue glow. He could hear newly polished leather shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor behind him, prowling. He picked a number at random and held the phone up to his ear.
It rang.
And rang.
And rang.
Nathan held his breath. The shoes squeaked closer to him.
“Hello this is Parkman.”
“Matt.” Nathan hissed into the phone, he heard a hand rest against the top of his desk and a satisfied laugh. He swallowed and breathed into the receiver “I need you. Get over here.”
“Nathan? What happened? What’s wrong?”
“I can’t talk. Not here. Just come. Now.”
Matt was going to say something else but Nathan hung up the phone. Now he just had to wait. Parkman would come, he would be okay. He wasn’t going to die today. If anyone could stop Sylar it was Parkman.
The leather shoes gave on final squeak on the hardwood. They kicked away his roll-y chair and came to a stop right in front of him. The tops were splattered with fresh blood. The left shoes tapped the floor for a bit.
“Mr. President where are you? ” a smooth mocking voice rang from above him.
Nathan leaned forward onto his knees. He heart pounded in his chest and thundered in his ears. If he launched himself from right here he could get enough speed to get out the window behind his desk and—
“Oh look I found you.” Sylar crouched down in front of him. The corners of his mouth flicked upward in a small smile “You really shouldn’t hide down there Mr. President, otherwise I might not have been able to find you.”
“What are you doing here Sylar?” Nathan said more calmly than he expected.
“What do you think?” Sylar said coldly.
Nathan swallowed. He had thought a lot of things in the past five minutes. Running the differing scenarios of why a serial killer that the world thought was dead was in his office. He tried to pick the one least likely to get him killed. Sylar could want access to the camps, free rang to take all the powers he could in a mostly unregulated no-mans-land. He could want to use Nathan as a political puppet. He could want information on where to find Peter, and if that was the case he was going to be horribly disappointed. Of course none of these was the most likely scenario. Nathan knew what that was, he’d know it since the door opened and he didn’t want to think about it.
“I don’t know.” He lied.
Sylar bent closer, so Nathan could feel his warm breath mix with the stale air below the desk “I guess I’ll have to show you then.” Sylar whispered.
Nathan’s back slammed into the wall before he could even blink. Pain exploded down his spine. He blinked black spots out of his eyes. He slid down the wall and crumpled onto the floor. His head pounded and his vision blurred. A moan escaped his throat.
Sylar leaned against his desk, his fingers ran smoothly over the woodwork “You know this really is fine work. I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate it. People like you never do. People like you are always too busy with their plans to notice the finer details. They don’t take the time to understand how things tick.”
Sylar glanced up at Nathan like he wasn’t nearly as interesting as a piece of furniture “And I know exactly how you tick, Nathan. I’m sure you just tried to call your brother. Your little Peter. Well he didn’t pick up, now did he. In case you haven’t noticed he hates you. Somehow, and if you don’t know how then you really must have a head made of rocks, you managed to make him angry. I have to say Nathan, when you fuck up you fuck up big.”
Sylar laughed.
Nathan pushed himself to his feet, only half listening. Electric pain cracked down his spine. He winced and staggered. A force pressed against his chest, slamming him back into the wall.
“ I don’t think you’re going anywhere Mr. President. No one is coming for you. You’re going to die here. Alone.”
Nathan’s thoughts flickered in his head, broken and disjointed. He had to stall. For Parkman. Parkman was coming. Parkman would be here soon. “W-why do you want me dead Sylar?” He coughed, struggling to speak with the force crushing his lungs.
“Oh don’t take it personally Mr. President. Unlike half the country, I don’t think that you’re a rotten piece of shit. You’re approval ratings are very low, in case you haven’t noticed Mr. President. You have to be careful, with approval that low someone might, oh I don’t know, what to kill you.” Sylar strolled towards him, slowly. He flicked his right wrist to the right, Nathan’s body followed sliding along the wall. The aging wall paper bit and burned his skin through his dress shirt.
“Its not you I want, not really.” Sylar continued calmly, flicking his wrist upwards so Nathan dangled several feet above the floor. “I promise, it’s not. Your ability isn’t even that interesting. Flying? Please. I’ve met at least five other people that can fly. I don’t need you to be Peter Pan, Mr. President.” Sylar mocked. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry, like a cat playing with its meal before it finally decided to make a kill. It wasn’t much but he could use that.
Nathan struggled against the force pressing him against the wall. If he could find a way out maybe he wouldn’t die. Maybe. He glanced at the ground and immediately regretted it. He had never been afraid of heights but right now his stomach churned and he wanted nothing more than to feel the ground beneath his feet.
“Okay so you don’t want my ability” he managed to stammer out, his breath dry and exhausted. “What do you want with me Sylar? You don’t seem like a political type of person, so why kill me?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Sylar walked up so he was only a few inches away, close enough to make Nathan’s skin crawl.
“I don’t think it is.”
Sylar shook his head “I always forget how much I overestimate people like you, Mr. President. I want you. I want to be you. I want your power. You’re the most powerful person in this country and you don’t deserve it. Everything you have,” he gestured at the large office with the faded blue floral wall paper “is because of me. Do you seriously think a guy like you would be president if he wasn’t running right after a disaster? You wouldn’t have been able to even win a single state. Nobody likes you Nathan, and people are starting to realize that they’ve made a mistake. And it has only been a year. What will they be saying in two? Or three? But I’m planning on fixing all that. I’m going to be a better you than you ever were, Nathan.”
The last thing Nathan felt was blinding pain as the serial killer sliced open his forehead.
Matt waited at the gate. The security guard had radioed into the white house and was showing off his fully array of skeptical looks to Matt. There was the are-you-sure-you’re-a-cop look, and then there was the are-you-really-a-serial-killer look. Matt didn’t have the heart to tell the guy that he had met serial killers and he didn’t look anything like them.
He tapped his left foot nervously on the floor and watched the glowing numbers on the digital clock flicker past. It had been three minutes. That wasn’t unreasonable, right? Nathan would still be alive after a three minute wait, right?
He knew he was worrying too much. Nathan was fine. He could handle himself.
But something in his gut nagged him, it made him antsy at the wheel. He had almost hit three taxis getting down here. His thoughts kept drifting to the worst case scenario—no he wouldn’t think about that.
Nathan was fine.
He learned out the window and asked the guard “Anything?”
The guard’s brows knit together “No sir, it seems like the radio signal is dead. All I am getting is static.”
“Do you think you could just, um, let me in?”
The guard shook his head “No sir, that’s against government policy. You’ll just have to wait until someone can come and open the gate.”
Matt sighed. He hated doing this. It made his skin crawl and his head pound for hours after. But he didn’t have much of a choice, did he? “I’m sorry.”
“For what—“
The man’s eyes when blank as his mind drifted off and Matt dove down into his consciousness. He tried avoid the personal stuff, the things the he wasn’t meant to see. Still he caught glipses. A three year old girl running to a Christmas tree, dancing drunkenly down a back alley street, kissing a girl on the lips. Matt placed the thought open the gate just on the surface of the guards mind, and then sank back into his own thoughts, thankful that he didn’t see anything too uncomfortable. That had happened before. It was always awkward afterward.
The guard blinked the cloudiness out of his eyes and smiled nervously at Matt. “Let me get that gate open for you.” He said.
“Thanks man.” Parkman returned a nervous smile. As soon as he drove through the gate he let it fall from his face. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his grip on the wheel. He had to find Nathan. And he had to find him fast.
He pulled his SUV put next to a rose garden that he assumed nobody would want to visit in the middle of winter, all the flowers where long dead and the remaining plants where brown and frozen looking from the recent cold snaps.
He got out of the car and began to walk towards the White House. Nobody came to stop him. Which was odd. There were always people crawling around the White House. Gardeners, politicians, secret service, anyone that managed to get a badge and wanted to see the president really. But it was completely deserted today.
Matt let his hand rest on the gun he wasn’t technically supposed to have. He was sure he was breaking a least one federal law by having it unchecked on White House grounds. He didn’t care, not today. He had the sinking feeling that he was going to need it.
He climbed over a thin ice coated railing and landed on a small deck. He turned the knob to the small white door that led into a tight looking wall papered hallway. When the door opened he felt relieved and increasingly nervous. Sure he wouldn’t have the break in, but that meant that someone had opened the door before him.
He had a theory about who, but he pushed it back. He tried not to think too much. Not right now.
Matt slipped into the hall and pulled out his gun.
He crept down the hall and reached out with his mind, searching for Nathan. With each empty room his nerves grew, his grip tightened around his gun and he walked faster. He tried not to draw attention to himself but there didn’t seem to be anyone to draw the attention of. Just like the outside of the building the inside was equally deserted.
And then he brushed something with his mind.
There was pain. Searing white hot pain that made Matt want to scream. He recoiled back and threw open the nearest door.
A young looking secretary greeted him at a big oak desk with a smile on her face and a long red gash in her head. Matt rested his hand on the trigger and threw open the larger set of doors to the oval office.
He didn’t think. He just acted. He held his gun out in front of him, ready to shoot.
When the doors swung open he saw he friend crumpled on the floor with blood dripping down his face. The man who killed him looked at Matt, wearing his dead friend’s face like a mask.