Who: Molly Walker and ___ What: Molly's avoiding sleep like the plague, so she wonders into the lobby, Tenderheart Carebear in tow. When: After Nathan brings her to the hotel, night time. Where:Rating: PG-13 depending on who posts and what language they use; she's eight, it's tame guys.
Molly, under no circumstances, was going to sleep tonight, or any other night. If they only knew what she saw—no, they wouldn’t. There was a good chance they wouldn’t believe her too. Why should they? A little girl who appeared out of nowhere claiming she was terrorized with nightmares from a telepath nightly? No, they wouldn’t. Molly wasn’t a hundred percent sure she’d believe herself either. But her dreams that were far too real, far too sinister to be just dreams, caused the little girl countless nights without sleep that began to grow so bad, she slept in class.
He didn’t come after her in the daytime. He only came at night.
Molly groped her way down the stairs and into the dimly lit lobby, plopping her tiny body on the sofa, curling herself into a little ball with her Carebear—Tenderheart Bear—snug tightly against her chest. Matt, her kitten, still slept soundlessly in her room. She didn’t want to disturb her. She didn’t deserve that, not when she’s been such a good kitty, hardly ever scratching her and only snuggling. So Molly let her be and decided to take her problems elsewhere.
Deep blue eyes stared up at the ceiling, memorizing it’s unique texture as if it were the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. She focused on the ceiling because Molly knew if she didn’t think about that, or how comfy the sofa was, or how nice her kitten treated her, she would end up thinking about the Nightmare man, and a strong pang of homesickness would seep into her heart and crush it. Mohinder wasn’t there to sing a lullaby or run his fingers through her sweat matted hair, and Matt wasn’t there to pull her into his strong arms and hold her, telling her that it was going to be alright.
“One hundred bottles of beer on the wall,” Molly sang softly under her breath, holding her stuffed animal against her tighter still. “One hundred bottles of beer…”