Spectrum
A "Heroes" fanfic by SJO
Notes: "Heroes" is owned by NBC. This takes place about a year after the first season. Probably no matter what I do to try to make this accurate, it will end up AU. I am making a number of assumptions, hopefully most of them I'll make clear in the story. If you have any questions, just ask. I'll do my best to answer. And if you're reading this after being familiar with the edition on the Heroes-TV fan website, I am adding a new character. I don't know if he'll work, but hopefully it'll help me do some of the stuff I wanted to do in the first place.
Chapter 1: Colors
Professor Suresh: "Unfortunately, the human race is devolving as well as evolving. This appears to be the true reason that mental disorders such as autism are on the rise. Yet as we all know, appearances can be deceiving. After all, research has shown that autistic people have more attuned senses, and some people with autism have incredible gifts in memory and mathematics. Consider that autism is an evolutionary strain independent of others. Children with autism are evolving more quickly than the rest of us, and the gifts they may acquire are, perhaps, beyond what any of us can imagine."
Harmony Miller--El Paso, Texas
"HARMONYཀ"
A tired, single mother called from the kitchen. "Come on, Honey, you're going to be lateཀ" She couldn't believe this. Her child was an early bird; she was usually down here by now and watching cartoons. The woman walked down the hallway, but then she heard her daughter groan loudly. The mother threw open the door. "Harmony?" The girl was thrashing violently in her bed and moaning. "Sweetie, what's wrong? Did you have a nightmare?" The girl didn't answer but kept groaning. "It's ok, Honey. I'm here. Let me help you get dressed." The mother pulled her up by the hand. Something wasn't right. The girl's pajama top looked bunchy. The mother looked behind the girl's collar. "Oh, you pillow must have broke. You got some feathers back here." The mother pulled out a feather from her back. The girl screamed louder. The mother couldn't believe it. The feather was a vibrant red. It looked like it was plucked off a parrot. "They stuff pillows with these?" She looked at the daughter's pillow and didn't see any holes. She finally took off the daughter's top and backed away with a gasp. Her daughter had colorful wings. "Honey, why were you wearing these?" She tugged at them, but they were stuck. The girl cried louder.
The mother ran out and called on the phone. "Hello, my daughter Harmony Miller won't be able to come in today. She's . . . sick." (She knew no one would believe her if she said her daughters had wings.) She started to dial the number for their doctor when Harmony came to the door. The wings were gone. "What happened?" the mother wondered. She still had the feather in her hand.
Claire Bennet–Odessa, Texas
The whole junior class of Union High was in an assembly. "After last year, when Jackie selflessly saved a life and then was tragically murdered, we thought maybe all of you would like to try being heroes. This year, we're going to require all of you to do service projects." A collective groan. "You guys are complaining now, but I think and that you'll feel good about doing your part. It's what Jackie would have wanted." That didn't really help. Some people tossed paper wads at the principal.
Claire was one of the most unhappy students about the announcement. Her father warned her to keep a low profile, and that meant giving up cheerleading for a while. She was lucky to make it back to her old high school and get a weekend job. He's not going to like this; it might not be safe.
There were tables set up in the cafeteria of things to sign up for. "Oh good!" she heard Zack say as they got into the cafeteria. "They got peer counseling."
"Counseling?" Claire hadn't spoken to Zack in a while. Of course, she couldn't tell him everything anymore, so they couldn't be as close friends as they used to be. And she wasn't sure how much he remembered. Still, though, it was nice to have someone to talk to a little bit. "That's a good fit for you."
Zack smiled. "Yeah. Well, I got one student in particular in mind."
He pointed across the cafeteria to a boy standing alone, wearing black from head to toe. His hair was jet black, his fingernails were black, even his eyes were black. He wore chains on his belt and a pentagram around his neck.
"Gavin?" Claire asked. "Good luck. People more experienced than you have tried for five years. I've never even seen him smile."
"Yeah, you see–" Zack lowered his voice, "I'm worried about him. He looks like the kind of guy who might come to school one day with a–" he whispered even lower, "a loaded gun."
Claire laughed. "Just because he dresses goth doesn't mean–"
"It's not just that. He's always alone. I don't think he has any friends. And I've seen the way he looks at people. I think he needs a friend. I think he needs to smile some."
Claire nodded and approached one of the first ones she saw. "I have tons of homework after that and work on the weekends. What's the easiest thing you got?"
"Well, we got some openings for second period on Wednesdays. That will help with the time. There are only two places that are doing that, though."
Claire looked it over. They weren't great choices–a nursing home or a special education school, or as Claire thought about them, old people or retarded kids. "Which of these are the lesser of two evils?" she thought. She finally closed her eyes and pointed at one. "OK, I'll sign up for this." She got a pin and signed in elaborate cursive "Claire Bennet," and put a heart at the end of her name.
The teacher looked at it. "Good choice, Claire. I think you'll make some very special kids happy."
"I don't know about that," Claire thought.
"Claire Bennet," a dark voice said as she turned around.
Claire jumped. Gavin was standing right behind her. How did he get there so fast? "Gavin?"
"Is your father having an internship?"
"Uh, no. He doesn't work at the paper factory anymore."
"Why not?"
"He just . . . doesn't."
"Hey Gavin," Zack interrupted, "why is six afraid of seven?"
Gavin looked at him questioningly.
"Because seven ate nine!" Zack laughed.
Gavin's expression didn't change, but he said, "That is very clever, Zachary. I thought it was clever in first grade as well." He walked on.
"Wow, you got a reaction from him," Claire said. "You might be able to reach him."
"Well, it may be a dumb way to start, but you gotta start somewhere." Zack went to the peer counseling table. Gavin was standing alone again, and he looked like he was talking to himself. Zack probably never saw that before. He may be right; Gavin may be dangerous. Why else would he be interested in her father's work? He acted like he knew what her father really does.
Hiro Nakamura–Tokyo, Japan (Most of this is translated from the Japanese)
It took a while, but Hiro returned from feudal Japan. He decided after that incident that perhaps his powers needed a little break. He returned to his job at Yamagato industries (occasionally keeping his eye on the news) so that he could see Ando again, but his mind was on the people he loved and missed. This afternoon, Hiro looked at one of the pictures on his desk. "Hanami," he whispered.
His mind drifted back to the day that he came back. The whole time there was one person he wanted to tell that he was a superhero, but since there was so much urgency, he didn't have time. So once the adventure was through, he ran to a house just outside of Tokyo in the country. He knocked on the door until it opened. "Hiroཀ What are you doing here?" a young man asked.
"I've come to see my favorite niece. Where is she?"
"Same as usual." The man stepped aside to let Hiro in, and Hiro took off his shoes. "Hanamiཀ"
"Yes," she called.
"Someone here to see you."
Hiro walked to a room in the back. He knew she wouldn't come running to him. In fact, he knew exactly what she was doing. He opened the door to see the little girl with black pigtails focused on an RPG she was playing. "Hanami?"
The girl turned around. "Uncle Hiroཀ" she cheered. No one really knew why, but she felt close to him since she was a very little girl, and he felt very close to her. She left the controls and gave him a hug. Hiro was a little stunned; she usually isn't a hugging person.
"Look, look," he said. "I have a new manga for you, American. See this? You know who that is? That's meཀ"
She looked at the comic and then at him. Her face showed no emotion, but Hiro didn't mind. "Don't tell anybodyཀ" he said with a chuckle.
She put the comic down and started playing the game again. Hiro sat down and watched her. "I just came back from a long journey. I've been all over America. I teleported there, like 'Star Trek.' I helped save New York from being bombed, and I made some new American friends. I'll take you one day to meet them, I promise."
Hanami turned around. "Time?" she asked.
"Uh, time?" He looked at his watch. "It's 5:45." Hanami looked down and turned back to the game. That was the one thing Hiro couldn't understand about her. She kept asking him about the time, and she never seemed satisfied when he told her. Sometimes she'd ask seconds later what time it was. Hiro didn't know what made her a slave to time. Now that he could bend the rules of the time/space continuum, this was one thing he hoped to undo. But right now, there was something else he had to do. He had to go to the bathroom. "I'll be right back," he told Hanami, and he got up and walked out of the room.
"I don't like this," he heard his sister Kimiko, Hanami's mother say. "Every time he comes, he either has a new video game or a manga for her. And he comes here almost three times a weekཀ"
"He's been gone for so long," his brother-in-law Mayanaka answered.
"And look at how she's improved. She's actually reading books, not the silly pictures he keeps giving her. She hasn't been playing as much on that mind-numbing Game Station. She's been outside."
"But she still doesn't look us in the eye. She doesn't say anything but 'yes' to us. She screams when we touch her. She's like that to everyone, except Hiro. I don't understand it any better than you do, but she's been close to Hiro ever since she was very little. He's doing a good thing."
"I'm not sure. You know what's going to happen in a few months. He's only making her more like him, and I know better than you how detached he is. She won't be ready."
"I still don't think it's a good idea. Everything will just be too hard and too fast."
"It wasn't yours, remember? It was Father's, and I for one think it's the right decision. I won't have my daughter be hikikomori."
A hikikomori in Japan is someone who refuses to leave home, get a job, go to school, or participate in anything having to do with society. Hiro's father accused him of being part of that group several times when he was young. Hiro wondered what they were talking about as he was alone. Hanami was about to turn 6, and that an important age in Japanese culture. There's an elaborate ceremony for Japanese girls after their sixth birthday. Hiro was too little when Kimiko had her ceremony, and he couldn't remember exactly what happened, but he remembered that all their family was there and she wore makeup and a kimono and looked very grown up and pretty. Perhaps that's what they meant. School would happen just after.
After he washed his hands, he came into the kitchen and bowed at the couple sadly. "I probably should go. I am sorry. I did not know this was a bad time." He tried to give his sister a smile, but she didn't smile back. He turned back to the door, and then he felt a tug on his shirt. He looked down, and Hanami looked up at him with big eyes. "Time?" she asked.
"Uh . . ." Hiro started to check his watch, but then he got an idea. "Here. Why don't you take it? Then you'll always know what time it is." Hanami grew even bigger. Hiro chuckled again. "You look just like a Senchi." Hanami smiled; she always loved the Senchi manga (Sailor Moon in America). Hiro played with her pigtails and said in a playful voice, "Hanami, little Senchi." She laughed. Kimiko cleared her throat and gave him a glare. Hiro quickly walked out.
He finally pulled up his blog and typed in an entry:
"I miss my niece, Hanami. I want to go visit her, but I don't think I will be welcome."
Gabriel Bonhomme--Paris, France (mostly translated)
Gabriel had the TV on while he was brushing his teeth. The news kinda served as a second shot of caffeine, especially since he was so focused, listening for specific stories–stories that rarely aired. Yet today was one of those rare occurrences.
"An Indian geneticist may break a record in the upcoming Nobel Prize ceremony."
Gabriel spit the toothpaste on the bathroom mirror and ran to the living room.
"Mohinder Suresh has been nominated for two Nobels in the same year, one for physiology and medicine and one for peace. Suresh successfully identified and isolated a number of super-genes and has spent the better part of the previous years identifying people who may have such genes. Word is that he helped avert a nuclear catastrophe in New York City, though this has yet to be confirmed. Mohinder is continuing the work that was theorized in 'Activating Evolution' written by his father Chandra Suresh, who was tragically murdered a year ago. Nobel rules dictate that no one can be nominated posthumously. Chandra Suresh was also recently nominated for a Darwin award."
Gabriel watched the TV spellbound. Ever since he was a young boy, he was fascinated with the Nobel Prize. He memorized every person who ever won, and what's more he got all of their biographies and knew every available detail of their research and contributions. Of course, his goal in life was to win the award himself. He mentally practiced his acceptance speech over and over. He wasn't greedy. In fact, the award and the fame were actually the lowest things on his radar. He most wanted the principal behind it. As he saw the winners, they were all people who changed the world forever and made it a much better place. That's what he wanted to do. He wanted to change the world. But he still didn't know how. He hadn't gotten any ideas yet of what field he wanted to pursue.
"In a related story," the anchor continued, "papers dealing with autism research were recently found in Chandra Suresh's estate. No particulars were given yet, but some believe that the geneticist outlined a cure for autism. Mohinder Suresh had this to say."
A picture of a young, handsome, Indian man can on the screen, and he said, "From what I can tell, these papers were a side-project my father hoped to pursue. He first wanted to prove his initial theory of evolution, but from that I could see how he could argue that there is an autism gene."
This story was even more interesting. Gabriel was also intrigued by autism, but he had to be. He had Asperger's Syndrome, a milder form of autism. He often thought that isolating the gene that causes autism and finding the cure would be an automatic Nobel, but he didn't want to do that.
But there was something even more unusual about the story. Mohinder spoke and an interpreter talked over him, but the strange thing was they were in perfect sync. This almost never happened–this American was speaking French perfectly. Gabriel wondered why he even needed an interpreter.
"C'est tres choette!" he said aloud. (Translated–That's very awesome.)
"Mohinder will reveal more of his father's autism theory today at an auction for autism research. And now, for the weather."
Gabriel turned off the TV. He was heading to the library to get that guy's book.
Mohinder Suresh–New York City
A standing ovation as the handsome Indian man took the podium. "Thank you," he addressed them. "My father Chandra believed that the human race is continuously evolving. I am happy to say that in the past year as I continued his research, I have been able to prove most of his theories." Another standing ovation. "After this, I felt as though my father could finally rest in peace, that his work was through. But then I found a new theory he was starting to pursue just before his death. One of his contemporaries argued the converse of his theory, that the human race was devolving. He saw this as the reason why disorders such as ADD and autism were becoming more prevalent. My father, ever the optimist, refuted this claim. He believed that evolution, even in the underprivileged, is possible. In fact, his belief was that these conditions are another form of evolution. Their genes can be located and monitored and modified."
"Wait a minute!" a voice in the back of the crowd interrupted. "I thought this guy had a cure for autism!"
Mohinder looked taken aback for a moment. He never let on anything to anyone, not even the press, about a cure. He knew what the reaction would be. "Sir, I am very sorry you were misled. My father's research, from what I can tell so far, had nothing to do with a cure. He more interested in leaving the autism alone and seeing how it develops."
The whole group groaned, muttered, and whispered. As Mohinder continued to talk, people started to get up and leave until the theater was completely empty.
"What was that about, professor?" a disappointed female voice said behind him.
He turned around. "Mrs. Petrelli? I–I did not know you were here. Surely you are not with them. You'd understand that–"
"You have no idea what I understand. You should have allowed me to arrange this."
"What do you know about autism?"
"More than you realize. Though I am curious why your father took such an interest in it."
"I suspect it has something to do with Shanti, my late sister. We may never know. Have you seen Peter? He was supposed to help me out."
"I have not, sorry," she replied coldly, and she walked out.
Peter Petrelli–Central Park
Peter Petrelli was sitting on a bench chewing slowly on a bagel. People were passing by him on all sides, but he barely noticed them. He was lost in the sound of a lonely piano. Just in front of him was a man probably somewhere in his late fifties or perhaps even his sixties wearing plaid shirt and sweat pants. He was just staring into space and playing "Moonlight Sonata" on a grand piano. Peter was listening to it as though he had never heard the piece before. He didn't really like classical music, but there was something about how this guy was playing it that just held him spellbound. He never experienced music like this before. As the guy played, he could see shades of blue before his eyes, or shapes, or other colors. He could even smell and taste some of the notes.
He wondered how long it would be before Mohinder's auction. He looked at his watch. "Whoaཀ Where did the time go?" He felt like he'd only been there twenty minutes, but he'd actually been there two hours. He had to get going.
First he headed toward the pianist. "Hey, you're really, really good. I never heard . . . better . . ." But the man made no acknowledgment that anyone was even there. He just kept playing. He was just as immersed in the music as Peter was. "Here dude. You deserve it." He pulled out a $10 and set it on the place where the sheet music was supposed to go. The man still didn't look toward Peter or said anything. Part of Peter thought, "Man, he may be a good piano player, but he's a jerkཀ" but just then, he thought his eye caught a glimpse of a hospital bracelet on the man's wrist, and another part of him thought, "Well, maybe he's deaf or mentally disabled. Maybe I should ask about him at the hospital."
Gabriel rode to the nearest library on his three-wheeled bike. He chained it up and went inside.
"Bonjour, Gabriel," the librarian greeted.
"Bonjour," he replied. He went straight to the computer to find if they had the book in the stacks, and they did. He started going to the section where it was located when he ran into a girl his age with auburn hair and green eyes.
"Bonjour, Gabriel," she said.
"Oh, bonjour Georgette."
"Comment t'allez-vous?" (How are you?)
"Bien, merci. Et vous?" (Fine, thank you. And you?)
"Bien." (Fine.)
"D'accord." (OK.) He started heading for the shelf.
"What are you looking for?"
"'Activating Evolution' by Chandra Suresh. Did you hear? His son is nominated for two Nobel Prizesཀ I want to see what it's all about." He turned back to the shelf. "Ah, voila." He pulled a book off the shelf. "Ooh la la. This is going to take me all weekend."
"Oui. Well, er, Pierre, Sofie, and I were going to go ice skating tonight. Would you like to come?"
"Hmm," Gabriel thought. "That's a coordination activity. I probably won't be very good, but at least I'll be out spending time with friends, and I bet we'll go somewhere to eat. If things aren't going well, I could just sit on a bench and read."
"D'accord. I'll come," he replied.
"D'accord. Bien."
"Georgette, could you give me a ride there, please? It's on the other side of town, right? It will take too long to ride on my bike."
"Sure, I'll give you a ride. I'll stop by your apartment around 6:30."
"Bien. Merci beaucoup." (Thank you very much.)
"Je vous en prix. (You're welcome) See you then."
"Au revoir!" Grabriel watched her leave, and he sighed lonely. He went up to the circulation desk and checked the book out. He went out with a big, eager smile of anticipation sprawled all over his face.
"Oh, I can't wait!" he finally said and sat down on a bench.
One minute later, Gabriel walked very slowly back into the library, staring at the book with a look of grave confusion. The librarian looked at him with concern. "Qu-est que c'est, Gabriel?" (What is it?) "Did you lose something?"
"Non, madame," (No, ma'am.) Gabriel replied. He put the book back down on the desk. "Je suis fini." (I am finished.)
Hiro excitedly knocked on his cousin's door. The door opened, and his sister answered. "Hiro?"
"Hello! I come to see Hanami. I've been thinking about–" But to Hiro's surprise, she stepped out of the door and closed it behind her. "Is there something wrong?"
"Little brother, we need to talk."
"You don't have to say. I know what you think of me. But I'm trying to do a good thing."
"I believe you do, but we have to make changes. I want my daughter to grow to be a responsible woman. I know she's autistic, but she doesn't have to become a hikikomori!"
"So what if she is?"
"What do you think Father will think of that?"
"I heard you talking about my father. He had something planned for her. What is it? Does it have to do with her sixth birthday? Does it--?"
"That's none of your business, Hiro. She's not your daughter. It's time Hanami start learning things about the real world, and the real world isn't a manga."
Hiro was hurt by that statement, and he knew what she was going to say. "Please, don't keep me out. She loves me! She always comes running, 'Uncle Hiro! Uncle Hiro!'"
"Now, don't be upset. I'm not saying we don't want you in her life, but I would prefer that you don't come back as often, and no more mangas!" She took the comic book out of Hiro's hands and started to rip it.
"No! I need that!"
"For what?"
"I, uh, I collect them! Sell for millions of yen one day."
"You were touching it, with your hands. You know that's the number one rule not to do if you're collecting."
"Well, uh, I haven't quite finished reading it yet. I'm using it to learn English. That's something Hanami and I can do. We can work on learning English together."
"What good will learning English do for her? She barely speaks Japanese." She slapped the comic back at Hiro. "Go home."
"Please . . ."
She was slowly closing the door, and her face softened, and she said with genuine regret, "I'm sorry, little brother." Then, she shut the door.
Hiro began to cry. "Your life may not be a manga, sister, but mine is!" he shouted back in tears. The door wouldn't open again, so he went back home.
Claire walked into a special ed school and approached a desk. "Hi, I'm Claire Bennet. I'm here to do two hours of community service for school."
"Yes," the secretary replied. "Union Wells High told us you were coming. Come with me." She took Claire to meet a teacher who took her to a playroom where a little girl with red hair was playing with blocks.
"This is Harmony Miller. She's got severe autism."
"You mean she's like Rain Man or something?"
"Not necessarily. She's more like the kid on that 'House' episode. She doesn't talk. She keeps to herself. She probably won't give you much trouble."
"OK, so what do you need me to do?"
"Just watch her and make sure she doesn't harm herself. If she needs something, she'll let you know."
"How can she let me know if she doesn't talk?"
"We've been teaching her to talk with a computer, but trust me, she'll have ways of letting you know."
"Okaaaay." Claire sat down in one of those chairs that was way too small for her and stared at the girl. Something told her this was going to be the most boring two hours of her life.
Gabriel pulled a heavy book off the shelf. He wanted to try it again. He sat down at a little table. He opened the book to chapter one. In two seconds he had the page read and flipped over to the next one. A couple of more seconds, and he had those pages read. Then the next, then the next, then the next. He seemed to be gaining momentum, flipping and flipping and flipping, reading faster and faster. It seemed as though he had just opened the book, and now he was closing it. It didn't even seem to take a minute. His head began to hurt. He put his face into his hands and moaned. He thought he felt like his brain was growing.
"Gabriel," the librarian said rushing to his side. "Etes-vous bien?" (Are you alright?)
"Madame," Gabriel said. "S'il vous plait, turn to any page in this book, and point to any sentence, and tell me which one it is."
"D'ac . . . cord," she replied as she opened the book to somewhere in the middle. "Page 123, sentence 15."
Gabriel quoted it verbatim.
"Oui! Tres bien!" (Yes! Very good!) "Have you been back here memorizing the whole book?"
"Non. I wasn't memorizing it, I was reading it. I'm finished with it now, madame. Merci."
"Je vous en prix." She went over to shelve the book.
"Madame, avez-vous une aspirine?" (Ma'am, do you have an aspirin?)
"Oui. I'll get you some."
"Merci." Gabriel could not believe it. He read the whole book in a minute or less, and he remembered every word. He buried his head in his hands again. This was not good.
Yet his eyes peeked through his fingers and slowly wandered over to the reference section–the encyclopedias.
Peter had been to two hospitals, even a couple of nursing homes, but no one matching the pianist's description could be found. He didn't try to get discouraged. This was New York City for crying out loud! It probably was going to take a while. He was a little surprised that he hadn't found several men who were like the one he saw and he had to pick them out of a lineup or something.
Finally, late in the afternoon, as he was heading over to a desk in a nursing home, he saw a waiting room where several old people were watching "The People's Court," and in the front row was the pianist.
"That's him!" Peter whispered. He pulled over a nurse that was passing by him in the hall. "Excuse me, miss, who's that guy in the front row?"
"Actually, sir, we don't know," she answered. "We found him here about two weeks ago. He didn't have any identification, and he doesn't talk."
"Well, what's he doing here?"
"There's really no other place to put him right now, until we can locate and contact his family. We think he's an idiot savant."
"I don't think he's an idiot. I saw him do some incredible things at–"
"No, that's just an expression. He doesn't talk or do basic tasks on his own, but he can write complex quadratic equations and recreate pictures he saw for just a few seconds. You're literally looking at Rain Man. We tried to check him in to a mental hospital where he might get better care, but they're overcrowded."
"I saw him in Central Park this morning playing the piano."
"You know, you're not the first one. We had a few reports that he was outside in New York, sometimes at Central Park, sometimes at Ground Zero, sometimes at Kirby Plaza, sometimes it's just completely random. He's always playing the piano. And every time we send a van to pick him up, he's not there. He's always back here watching 'People's Court' or 'Jeopardyཀ' or something. I actually believe it's very unlikely that he'd think about going out. Idiot savants, you know, are very rigid about routine. New settings would be so stressful for him."
"Well, how good can he play piano?"
"How should I know? We don't have one." The nurse left him.
Peter stared at the man who was fixated on the TV, starting to wonder if this was the same guy. He noticed something different about him. On the other arm that didn't have the hospital bracelet, he had one of those Livestrong rubber bracelets that had many colors–it looked like every color of the rainbow. He got another nurse. "Where did he get that?"
"Don't know. At lunch, he was wearing it."
Peter looked back at the man and thought, "Guess that's how he used my ten."
Claire Bennet was right. This was the most boring two hours of her life. The girl was just playing with toys and blocks, not making any noise, never making any communication that she needed anything. She seemed pretty smart, grouping things by colors and following the same pattern every time—red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and purple.
Claire looked up at the clock. Fifteen more minutes. It's probably going to feel more like a half hour. "Wonder if one of these computers has internet?" she thought. She went over to one and pulled up Myspace. "Cool." Then she felt hungry. "Maybe I can get something low fat from the vending machine," she thought and she left the room.
Harmony looked up and saw a computer that wasn't on its screen saver. She very slowly typed her name in the box. Then she hit "Enter." Right at that moment, fire came out of her fingertips and set the table ablaze.
Claire was just coming back to the room when she saw smoke. "Oh, great!" she muttered. "Just when I leave–Harmony! Harmony! Are you ok?" She ran into the room and gasped. The whole room was on fire, but Harmony was flying above the flames, with large, red wings sprouting out of her back. She looked down on the cheerleader with a flat look on her face. It looked terrifying. "What is this kid?"
As evening was setting in, Gabriel went back to his apartment and took a shower. He felt a little better clean, but his head was still throbbing. He pulled out of his dresser drawer an oversized, black shirt of a familiar logo of a beam of light hitting a clear triangle and splitting into the spectrum. Somehow, this seemed like the perfect shirt to put on right now. He slipped that on and some jeans. Looking at the shirt made him think about the album, so he put it on his CD player.
He was surprised when he heard Pink Floyd singing. It was in French. It was still poetic, still rhymed, still was in beat, and as far as he could tell the meaning of their songs hadn't changed much. But it was in French. He hadn't listened to this album in years, and he was sure it was in English when it was purchased.
Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. He opened the door. "Oh, bonjour Georgette."
"Bonjour. Pink Floyd?"
"I was just thinking about this album for some reason. Je ne sais pas." (I don't know.)
"Are you thinking of your father?"
Gabriel sighed and looked away. On top of all this, he didn't need that brought up. "Petetre, un peu." (Maybe, a little bit.)
"Oh. Well, are you ready to go ice skating?"
"Ah, j'ai oubile. Je suis tres desole, Georgette." (I forgot. I'm very sorry, Georgette.) I'm very tired. I had a hard day. I got a bad, bad headache. Maybe another time."
"Oh, je suis desole. Well, I hope you feel better soon."
"Merci." As she left, he thought, "I hope I do too."
Hiro passed by his sister's house just before work and looked into Hanami's play room in the window. She was sitting in front of a TV playing a video game. Then Kimiko came and grabbed her arms. Hanami started screaming and throwing a fit. Hiro just watched. He knew that they were making her do something she didn't want to do, and he felt so powerless. He, the hero with superpowers, felt powerless.
But then, Hanami saw him in the window. She got out of her parents' grip, crawled toward the window, and her mouth formed that usual request, "Time? Time?"
This time, though, Hiro knew she wasn't asking about the time of day. Why didn't he think of this before? He looked at her and very slowly nodded. Then, he started to concentrate and squint his eyes–
But before he could shut them, he saw Hanami turn her head sharply toward her mother, and suddenly both parents were thrown across the room. Hiro's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. Did he just see what he thought he saw?
Hanami reached her hand toward the window, and it opened by itself. "Uncle Hiro!" she called.
"Hanami! I'm coming!" But as he came closer, he saw a strange reflection behind his shoulder in another window. It was an Asian man wearing dark clothes and what looked like a samurai sword. Hiro's eyes grew wide. He knew who this was. He stood still. Suddenly, Hiro felt a hand on his shoulder, and everything moved backwards. Then he found himself looking at the house from the road again.
"What are you doing? Isn't this going to cause a rift that will unravel the time and space continuum?"
"I had to do this."
"What should I do?"
"Go. Leave her alone for now."
"But they—"
"It's not her time yet."
"Time," Hiro whispered. "That's what she meant." He heard the visitor walk away. "But when will it be her time?" he asked to the back of the visitor's head.
"When there's a rainbow around the moon," the man replied without turning back. Hiro looked back at the window for a moment. Hanami turned off her game, looked out the window, and waved at Hiro. It seemed like she remembered what happened.
Gabriel was online chatting with an American friend who knew French. "I had this crazy day. Today, I read five volumes of an encyclopedia in five minutes. I feel like my brain is going to explode."
"You feel like Frank Drummer?" his friend typed back.
"Edgar Lee Masters, 'Spoon River Anthology,' died at 25 when he tried to memorize the Encyclopedia Britannica. Yes! That's exactly how I feel!"
"That's kinda cool."
"No it isn't. Remember, I'm hyperlexic. I'm addicted to books and reading. I love savoring a good book for several days. Retaining all that information is great, but if I read books this quickly, how can I satisfy my insatiable appetite for books?"
"Well, the faster you read, the more books you can read. Maybe you'll be able to read all the books in the world. I think you should think positively if you really do have this ability."
"I'll try. So, how are you doing with pi?"
"Made it to five hundred places."
"Choette!"
"Yeah. Well, I gotta go. My mother needs the computer."
"OK, Micah. I'll talk to you tomorrow." He logged off.
Of course, pi, the litmus test to see how smart he's really gotten. He pulled out a pad of paper. "3.14 . . ." he wrote, and then he went on, and on, and on, writing front and back, sheet after sheet, getting ink all over his hands, getting Writer's Cramp, listening to the music of Pink Floyd still playing in the background. He finally reached a point where his brain just cut out, went into overload. He was in the middle of writing another digit when suddenly his head just fell down on the table, and he fell asleep.
In his dream, the last two songs of "The Dark Side of the Moon" were playing all around him. He was walking on a pebble beach, and it was night. He had his shoes off, and he was walking to the ocean to feel the tide. And he saw a bright green light in front of him in the distance, and he could hear a voice calling for help. He just started going toward the light, thinking, "They need my help." He was transfixed on that light. He knew he was in a trance. Slowly, the light grew bigger and brighter. Then, at the end of the dream, he reached the source of the light–the Statue of Liberty's torch.
Mohinder–"Sometimes, evolution can be painful. Evolution can be terrifying. Evolution, by definition, is change. It's impossible to resist the change when evolution selects you. But when your very nature is to resist change, what will you do?"
Gabriel woke and found himself in the grassy median of an interstate. He had no idea where he was, but he knew it was very far from home.
To be continued . . .