The Philosophy of Heaven and Hell
Sylar thought all the time of philosophy, of right and wrong, of God and the Devil, of Heaven and Hell. He knew that for all his talk of being a genetic Robin Hood, taking from the undeservingly power rich to give to himself, he was still bound to Hell. His mother had always told him that the road to Hell was paved with good intentions, and she’d been right. He’d only intended to take powers from those that misused them, that ignored them, that begged doctors to “cure” them as if it was a curse instead of a blessing. He would use the powers, cherish the powers, and hopefully at some point in the future, guide others that wanted their powers. He didn’t mean to kill innocents, random victims, just those that deserved to die. Didn’t matter, really, murder was murder, and he knew he was doomed.
He’d been right, he was going to Hell. It was just that he didn’t expect to enter Hell so soon, or to enter it in this manner. His mother had talked of fires, of monsters, of devils with pitchforks, of never-ending pain and suffering. He’d always imagined a vermillion-colored pit, filled with smoke and stench, and flames everywhere. He never imagined that Hell would be a nauseating shade pastel pink, smell like lavender potpourri, and have speakers playing nonstop easy listening muzak. It was worse than he’d ever imagined.
The woman sitting across from him was whistling along in time with the music. He was starting to rethink his creed of only killing people with powers. Surely anyone who was amused by this should die. He shook the thought from his head. He’d given up killing; he was trying to earn his redemption. As if anything he did could save him at this point.
Years ago, Gabriel would lie awake during the still of the night, in his cold and lonely bed, thinking of how he was going to die. When he didn’t realize how very special he was, he always assumed that his death would be routine, normal, not noticed by those around him - a heart attack, automobile accident, cancer. Once he’d become Sylar, he craved anything other than standard. He was going to go down in a blaze of glory, brought down by someone like Peter Petrelli during an epic battle that people would talk of for years, or killed in cold blood by someone like Noah Bennet. He would be remembered, even if it was only by his enemies. For awhile, he’d thought that he might not even have to die. He’d just have to take the cheerleader’s invulnerability from her, or take Petrelli’s sponge powers and then keep the cheerleader by his side. Either way, who’d be able to take him down then?
He felt like laughing at his younger, more foolish self. It sounded so easy back then - kill the cheerleader, rule the world. His first attempt ended in the death of a useless girl he’d never meant to hurt. His second attempt had been directed at Petrelli, and it had been just as dismal a failure. His third attempt, well, that’s where everything had changed. Instead of killing the girl, he’d ended up kissing the girl, which was so not what he’d planned to do.
Sylar knew he’d been right about one thing. He’d always known that Petrelli or Bennet was going to be involved in his death. He just hadn’t realized why they were going to kill him. When he was feeling his most guilty, his most ashamed of what he was doing, he thought that they’d take him down like a rabid dog, and he’d almost wanted to thank them for taking him out of his misery. When Bennet had found the girl in his arms that first time, he’d thought that he’d be killed by an irate father. If they only knew…
His internal monologue was disrupted when the pale young man touched him on the arm.
“Got a cigarette, man? I’ve got to go have a smoke outside.” The man looked like he was about to pass out.
Sylar shook his head. “Sorry, gave it up earlier.”
The man started shaking. Sylar felt sorry for him, so he asked the entire waiting room if anyone might have a cigarette or two to spare. The women all glared at him, but one of the other men leapt to his feet and motioned towards the door.
As soon as they hit the harsh sunlight, all three men sighed. Sylar was offered a cigarette, but had to turn it down. He could only imagine what Claire would say or do if she’d catch him or smell it on him. He was willing to sit out here, offering moral support to these other miserable sinners, but he wasn’t willing to let her down.
After the other two had taken the first few deep drags, the silence was broken. “First time? I can tell. I’m Paul, by the way,” said the man who’d offered him the cigarette.
The pale young man sighed. “Yeah. What gave it away, the shaking, the sweating, or the urge for nicotine? I’m Bob.”
They looked at him, expectedly. What was he supposed to say? “Gabriel. Yeah, me too.”
Paul laughed. “Been here, done it all before. Trust me, boys, it doesn’t ever get any easier.”
Bob whimpered. “I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t even know if it’s mine. What about you, Gabriel, how freaked out are you?”
He couldn’t find the words to adequately express his terror, his shock, his fears, his wishes, his secret most-hidden hopes. “We’re not even sure if she is. It’s just the test, today.”
Shaking his head, Paul responded. “You already know. You wouldn’t be here for her if you didn’t.” That sat there for a few more minutes. Finally, Paul stood and flicked his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk, and ground it out with his heel. “C’mon boys, we’d better go back. Gabriel’s girl is going to be looking for him soon, and it wouldn’t do any of us any good if she can’t find him.”
The three men made their way back into the waiting room, but Sylar still didn’t see Claire. There was an irate woman looking for Bob, however. The terrified young man was led by his girlfriend from the office, leaving Paul and Sylar to fend for themselves.
Paul took a seat next to him, and slapped him on the shoulder. “If no one else knows yet, let me be the first to offer you my congratulations.”
Those were the last words that Sylar wanted to hear. He couldn’t stop himself from babbling at the older man. “It’s not. She’s not. We’re not, can’t be. No. She’s just… not. She can’t be. Her father’s going to kill me. Her uncle’s going to bring me back and kill me again. She can’t be.”
Paul grinned at him. “Yep, definitely your first. Exact same damn thing I said. If it makes you feel any better, my in-laws didn’t kill me.”
Sylar didn’t respond.
“Oh, ho, ho, ho. Is that the problem we have here? Unwed and pregnant. Yeah, I can understand that killing idea a whole lot better now.”
The man just didn’t understand, but Sylar didn’t know how to make the man comprehend the high stakes. It didn’t matter if they were married or not, the Petrelli brothers were still going to kill him. Slowly, painfully, gleefully kill him. He knew what they were capable of. They could pretend that nothing was happening, that Claire wasn’t with him, that she wasn’t his in every way possible, that he wasn’t a part of their lives, but even they couldn’t pretend anymore when presented with incontrovertible evidence wrapped in a baby blanket. He didn’t bother responding to Paul.
They sat there in uncomfortable silence, waiting, watching the seconds click away on the overly large wall clock. It was exactly one minute and 13 seconds too fast and the second hand would occasionally click in the same place three times in a row. Sylar couldn’t stop staring at it. Gabriel was telling him to fix it, but Sylar couldn’t move. It was the first time he’d seen a broken clock and hadn’t repaired it. For once, he had much bigger problems to deal with. Really, a broken clock was nothing in comparison.
Fifteen minutes of staring at the broken clock, and the door separating the waiting room from the exam rooms opened. Sylar looked up to see Claire standing in the doorway, with tears running down her face. He quickly made his way to her side, and wrapped her in her arms.
“Shh, babydoll, don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. Shhh.” He hadn’t realized that she’d wanted to carry his baby this much until now. He took her tears as a sign that she wasn’t. He was wrong again. He didn’t realize that the tears were those of happiness
He wasn’t expecting her soft whisper. “Of course it’s okay, Gabriel. You and me and baby makes three, and what could be more perfect?”
He was a bad, bad man, and he knew he was bound to Hell, but he couldn’t help but thinking that he’d escaped and was already in Heaven as he kissed her in response.
He’d been right, he was going to Hell. It was just that he didn’t expect to enter Hell so soon, or to enter it in this manner. His mother had talked of fires, of monsters, of devils with pitchforks, of never-ending pain and suffering. He’d always imagined a vermillion-colored pit, filled with smoke and stench, and flames everywhere. He never imagined that Hell would be a nauseating shade pastel pink, smell like lavender potpourri, and have speakers playing nonstop easy listening muzak. It was worse than he’d ever imagined.
The woman sitting across from him was whistling along in time with the music. He was starting to rethink his creed of only killing people with powers. Surely anyone who was amused by this should die. He shook the thought from his head. He’d given up killing; he was trying to earn his redemption. As if anything he did could save him at this point.
Years ago, Gabriel would lie awake during the still of the night, in his cold and lonely bed, thinking of how he was going to die. When he didn’t realize how very special he was, he always assumed that his death would be routine, normal, not noticed by those around him - a heart attack, automobile accident, cancer. Once he’d become Sylar, he craved anything other than standard. He was going to go down in a blaze of glory, brought down by someone like Peter Petrelli during an epic battle that people would talk of for years, or killed in cold blood by someone like Noah Bennet. He would be remembered, even if it was only by his enemies. For awhile, he’d thought that he might not even have to die. He’d just have to take the cheerleader’s invulnerability from her, or take Petrelli’s sponge powers and then keep the cheerleader by his side. Either way, who’d be able to take him down then?
He felt like laughing at his younger, more foolish self. It sounded so easy back then - kill the cheerleader, rule the world. His first attempt ended in the death of a useless girl he’d never meant to hurt. His second attempt had been directed at Petrelli, and it had been just as dismal a failure. His third attempt, well, that’s where everything had changed. Instead of killing the girl, he’d ended up kissing the girl, which was so not what he’d planned to do.
Sylar knew he’d been right about one thing. He’d always known that Petrelli or Bennet was going to be involved in his death. He just hadn’t realized why they were going to kill him. When he was feeling his most guilty, his most ashamed of what he was doing, he thought that they’d take him down like a rabid dog, and he’d almost wanted to thank them for taking him out of his misery. When Bennet had found the girl in his arms that first time, he’d thought that he’d be killed by an irate father. If they only knew…
His internal monologue was disrupted when the pale young man touched him on the arm.
“Got a cigarette, man? I’ve got to go have a smoke outside.” The man looked like he was about to pass out.
Sylar shook his head. “Sorry, gave it up earlier.”
The man started shaking. Sylar felt sorry for him, so he asked the entire waiting room if anyone might have a cigarette or two to spare. The women all glared at him, but one of the other men leapt to his feet and motioned towards the door.
As soon as they hit the harsh sunlight, all three men sighed. Sylar was offered a cigarette, but had to turn it down. He could only imagine what Claire would say or do if she’d catch him or smell it on him. He was willing to sit out here, offering moral support to these other miserable sinners, but he wasn’t willing to let her down.
After the other two had taken the first few deep drags, the silence was broken. “First time? I can tell. I’m Paul, by the way,” said the man who’d offered him the cigarette.
The pale young man sighed. “Yeah. What gave it away, the shaking, the sweating, or the urge for nicotine? I’m Bob.”
They looked at him, expectedly. What was he supposed to say? “Gabriel. Yeah, me too.”
Paul laughed. “Been here, done it all before. Trust me, boys, it doesn’t ever get any easier.”
Bob whimpered. “I shouldn’t even be here. I don’t even know if it’s mine. What about you, Gabriel, how freaked out are you?”
He couldn’t find the words to adequately express his terror, his shock, his fears, his wishes, his secret most-hidden hopes. “We’re not even sure if she is. It’s just the test, today.”
Shaking his head, Paul responded. “You already know. You wouldn’t be here for her if you didn’t.” That sat there for a few more minutes. Finally, Paul stood and flicked his cigarette butt onto the sidewalk, and ground it out with his heel. “C’mon boys, we’d better go back. Gabriel’s girl is going to be looking for him soon, and it wouldn’t do any of us any good if she can’t find him.”
The three men made their way back into the waiting room, but Sylar still didn’t see Claire. There was an irate woman looking for Bob, however. The terrified young man was led by his girlfriend from the office, leaving Paul and Sylar to fend for themselves.
Paul took a seat next to him, and slapped him on the shoulder. “If no one else knows yet, let me be the first to offer you my congratulations.”
Those were the last words that Sylar wanted to hear. He couldn’t stop himself from babbling at the older man. “It’s not. She’s not. We’re not, can’t be. No. She’s just… not. She can’t be. Her father’s going to kill me. Her uncle’s going to bring me back and kill me again. She can’t be.”
Paul grinned at him. “Yep, definitely your first. Exact same damn thing I said. If it makes you feel any better, my in-laws didn’t kill me.”
Sylar didn’t respond.
“Oh, ho, ho, ho. Is that the problem we have here? Unwed and pregnant. Yeah, I can understand that killing idea a whole lot better now.”
The man just didn’t understand, but Sylar didn’t know how to make the man comprehend the high stakes. It didn’t matter if they were married or not, the Petrelli brothers were still going to kill him. Slowly, painfully, gleefully kill him. He knew what they were capable of. They could pretend that nothing was happening, that Claire wasn’t with him, that she wasn’t his in every way possible, that he wasn’t a part of their lives, but even they couldn’t pretend anymore when presented with incontrovertible evidence wrapped in a baby blanket. He didn’t bother responding to Paul.
They sat there in uncomfortable silence, waiting, watching the seconds click away on the overly large wall clock. It was exactly one minute and 13 seconds too fast and the second hand would occasionally click in the same place three times in a row. Sylar couldn’t stop staring at it. Gabriel was telling him to fix it, but Sylar couldn’t move. It was the first time he’d seen a broken clock and hadn’t repaired it. For once, he had much bigger problems to deal with. Really, a broken clock was nothing in comparison.
Fifteen minutes of staring at the broken clock, and the door separating the waiting room from the exam rooms opened. Sylar looked up to see Claire standing in the doorway, with tears running down her face. He quickly made his way to her side, and wrapped her in her arms.
“Shh, babydoll, don’t cry. Don’t cry. It’ll be okay. Shhh.” He hadn’t realized that she’d wanted to carry his baby this much until now. He took her tears as a sign that she wasn’t. He was wrong again. He didn’t realize that the tears were those of happiness
He wasn’t expecting her soft whisper. “Of course it’s okay, Gabriel. You and me and baby makes three, and what could be more perfect?”
He was a bad, bad man, and he knew he was bound to Hell, but he couldn’t help but thinking that he’d escaped and was already in Heaven as he kissed her in response.