Who: Claire Bennet, Eve Levine, Sylar What: Claire remembers Where: Top of a LA 20+ Story Building When: Early 30th Rating: High for themes Status: Complete as narritive, open to someone she knows
Claire was furious, a cold raw fury that swept through everything she was. She had been on a bit of a spree and even the screams hadn’t helped. So she’d found a building, A building she now stood on top of, right at the edge watching the city. Her city. She stood, furiously, wind in her hair, tears of rage in her eyes and screamed. Wildly. Furiously. Hurting.
The scream lasted as long as she could let it before the need for breath overtook her. Death by screaming was only fun when Mitchell took the life from her.
Everyone was lying to her, everyone was playing games, making up such horrible horrible lies and she didn’t understand it anymore. Claire hated them. Each and every one of them, and she and Mitchell would make them pay for their crimes. In blood and screams and pain and hurt.
But not tonight. Tonight she’d find her own way to feel. With a deep breath Claire leapt from the building. 22 Floors. It might not make her feel but she’d feel it in her mind. The Rush.
....There it was.
Beautiful. Her hair flying behind her as the cool wind whipped through it, she wished Mitchell was here, she thought, watching. Whips had brought him to mind. Of course they had. She screamed and laughed as she fell, screams and wild laughter in equal measure.
And then impact.
And then death.
For a time there was nothing. Claire was nothing. Claire was lost.
Rush of breath. Rush of life, and then she was herself...
Or...
No. No no God no.
She screamed again as she sat up, not bothering to fix her limbs, not worrying if she’d heal, not wanting to heal. Not caring because she was no better than Adam Monroe. No better than Sylar. She was a monster. She’d taken life, killed hurt and done it for the raw pleasure. She remembered every sickening monsterous second. She never got sick. Never got ill and she didn’t have a lot to vomit up. But she did it anyway. Heaving until there was nothing left to heave. Crying. Hurting. Screaming wildly into the dark night. Limbs still fixed at odd angles and blood all over her.