museimagination: Black Dress
By the time that Sylar arrived, it was all already over.
The clean up teams were moving in cautiously on the lab. Bennet stood by the doorway, looking inside with an inscrutable expression on his face. Sylar came up next to him, not wanting to look in and see what he already knew was there.
He lay in a pool of blood, his purple hoodie splattered with dark red blood. There was no visible sign of the mutations that had been wracking him; he looked not shocked or horrified but just vaguely disappointed.
“You were meant to take him alive.”
“He didn’t want to go alive.” Bennet was unapologetic. “He killed the team that arrived before us, they tried to cuff him and he went berserk, broke both their necks.”
“Why did you kill him? I could have taken him alive. You should have waited for me!” He stepped in, past his partner and down the stairs towards the limp form.
He lay sprawled over the painting of Manhattan going nuclear. The irony wasn’t lost on Sylar, another man dead on this painting, his blood coagulating in the deep holes left months ago by paintbrushes. Sylar imagined the last man to die here would have found the entire thing amusing. That Sylar would lose something so precious on this very spot that he claimed another power.
He crouched down, brushing back the hood to let the light fall on the ashen face. There was the first tiny signs of the breakdown on his neck, lesions erupting and something alien glimmering underneath. But his face, that beautiful face was untouched.
“He looks… disappointed.”
“He asked for you.”
He was surprised. Looking to Bennet, the older man just shrugged. “He did?”
“He asked if you were with me. I said no, he looked disappointed.” He didn’t know what showed on his face, but it compelled Bennet to keep explaining, must have revealed his need to hear it. “He said he thought it should always come down to you and him. It was meant to be you.
“Then he picked up the test tube and said it was the virus. Strain omega, he called it. The strain that would target the unevolved. And if I didn’t shoot him, he would open it. I couldn’t take the risk.”
Sylar looked back to the fallen man.
He had wanted Bennet to shoot him. He wanted to die. “Why didn’t he wait for me to arrive?”
“He said he didn’t want Clair and Lyle to lose their father again. That he would slip and kill me and then release it.” Bennet seemed unmoved. Sylar wanted to pop his head open.
“You should have waited for me.”
“You should have been here already. You were too busy playing at happy families.”
Bennet was right. Without much thought, he picked up the body in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking him back to the Company and calling his mother. She lost her husband. She deserves to know she’s lost her son.”
Bennet nodded and stepped aside, letting him pass by with the body. The teams ignored him, he walked down to the van and glared at the techs until they fled. He lay him down, strapping him into the stretcher, lingering on the painful wounds in his skin.
He sat with him for a while and pretended he was asleep, not dead.
Then he got in the front and drove the van off.
Bennet was right.
He had been busy playing happy families with the Petrellis and because of that, Mohinder had died.
He’d get it right this time.
He glanced back to the transfusion equipment in the back and smiled to himself.
He’d get it right this time.
The clean up teams were moving in cautiously on the lab. Bennet stood by the doorway, looking inside with an inscrutable expression on his face. Sylar came up next to him, not wanting to look in and see what he already knew was there.
He lay in a pool of blood, his purple hoodie splattered with dark red blood. There was no visible sign of the mutations that had been wracking him; he looked not shocked or horrified but just vaguely disappointed.
“You were meant to take him alive.”
“He didn’t want to go alive.” Bennet was unapologetic. “He killed the team that arrived before us, they tried to cuff him and he went berserk, broke both their necks.”
“Why did you kill him? I could have taken him alive. You should have waited for me!” He stepped in, past his partner and down the stairs towards the limp form.
He lay sprawled over the painting of Manhattan going nuclear. The irony wasn’t lost on Sylar, another man dead on this painting, his blood coagulating in the deep holes left months ago by paintbrushes. Sylar imagined the last man to die here would have found the entire thing amusing. That Sylar would lose something so precious on this very spot that he claimed another power.
He crouched down, brushing back the hood to let the light fall on the ashen face. There was the first tiny signs of the breakdown on his neck, lesions erupting and something alien glimmering underneath. But his face, that beautiful face was untouched.
“He looks… disappointed.”
“He asked for you.”
He was surprised. Looking to Bennet, the older man just shrugged. “He did?”
“He asked if you were with me. I said no, he looked disappointed.” He didn’t know what showed on his face, but it compelled Bennet to keep explaining, must have revealed his need to hear it. “He said he thought it should always come down to you and him. It was meant to be you.
“Then he picked up the test tube and said it was the virus. Strain omega, he called it. The strain that would target the unevolved. And if I didn’t shoot him, he would open it. I couldn’t take the risk.”
Sylar looked back to the fallen man.
He had wanted Bennet to shoot him. He wanted to die. “Why didn’t he wait for me to arrive?”
“He said he didn’t want Clair and Lyle to lose their father again. That he would slip and kill me and then release it.” Bennet seemed unmoved. Sylar wanted to pop his head open.
“You should have waited for me.”
“You should have been here already. You were too busy playing at happy families.”
Bennet was right. Without much thought, he picked up the body in his arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking him back to the Company and calling his mother. She lost her husband. She deserves to know she’s lost her son.”
Bennet nodded and stepped aside, letting him pass by with the body. The teams ignored him, he walked down to the van and glared at the techs until they fled. He lay him down, strapping him into the stretcher, lingering on the painful wounds in his skin.
He sat with him for a while and pretended he was asleep, not dead.
Then he got in the front and drove the van off.
Bennet was right.
He had been busy playing happy families with the Petrellis and because of that, Mohinder had died.
He’d get it right this time.
He glanced back to the transfusion equipment in the back and smiled to himself.
He’d get it right this time.