Gabriel "Sylar" Gray (inaworldsocold) wrote in colligo_threads, @ 2009-09-19 20:40:00 |
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Entry tags: | !@event, !open, elle bishop, gabriel 'sylar' gray |
WHO: Gabriel "Sylar" Gray (OPEN to Tags)
WHAT: Worse fears realized
WHERE: His & Elle's Apartment
WHEN: September 19th; Late Evening
RATING: PG-13
STATUS: Complete as Narrative; Open to Tags
Do you even know who you are anymore?
The voice stirred Sylar from a sound sleep, his gaze shifting out in front of him as he tried to take in the surroundings of the room. Elle slept soundly next to him, and there was no one else as far as he could see. It had just been a dream, a nightmare, and for someone that had done and seen as much as Sylar had, those were commonplace. Shifting slowly in the bed, Sylar leaned over the woman sleeping next to him, kissing Elle's cheek as he placed an affectionate hand on her stomach. The slick of something against his hand made him wrench it backwards, staring through the darkness at the inky black that coated his hand. Even if the lack of light made the images look off, the tinge in the back of his throat made it all too clear what was all over his hand.
Blood. There was no denying the smell and aromatic taste of that coppery substance that he'd come to know so well.
"Elle," Sylar said in a harsh whisper, grasping her shoulders and giving a little shake. "Elle, wake up. Something wrong with the ba--" His voice was cut off, however, as Elle's head lulled to the side, her bangs falling away to reveal a deep gash across the length of her forehead. A scream was strangled in his throat as he scrambled back off of the bed and away from Elle's body. Her body.
Look in the mirror, Gabriel. Do you even know who you are anymore?
The voice whispered again as Sylar swung his gaze around until it fell on the mirror just over the dresser in the bedroom. The reflection staring back at him was wide-eyed, shaved head, the desperate and uncaring reflection of himself when his ability was still in control, when he was positive that Gabriel was dead, gone, and no more. When he was only Sylar and truly embraced everything that came with that. Do you really think that you can ever be happy? That you can have a normal life like everyone else? Because you can't. Have many lives have you destroyed, Gabriel? How many people are dead at your hands?
"I'm not like that anymore," Sylar choked out in a whisper, turning and staring back at the bloody mess that was supposed to be Elle on the bed. "I'm not. I couldn't have..."
But you did, Gabriel, Sylar's gaze shifted again, jerking around to where a ghostly figure, Elle in the outfit that she'd had on at the beach covered in blood from head to toe, stalked towards him. You killed me once, and you killed me again because you can't allow yourself to be happy. You have to get rid of everything good in your life because you believe that you don't deserve us. You know it as well as I do. And you also know I'm not the only one that you had to get rid of this time.
Not the only one? Oh, god. Noah. Noah, and... But Peter and Claire couldn't... not unless... His stomach turned, mind whirling as he turned away from the mirror only to trip over a gun laying in the middle of the floor. Where had that come from? Why would either of them need... As he reached down to pick it up, a torrent of memories flooded over him. Noah, pinned down, electrocuted, throat slashed. Peter & Claire both done the same way, pinned to the spot and flipped over and shot in the back of the head several times 'just in case.' Hands trembling, Sylar dropped the gun, his stomach churning as he dry heaved in disgust, crumbling to his knees. All of them. All of them gone. Because of him. Because of what he was.