It was a quiet funeral. All of the family was there, which wasn't much, and his friends, which were even less. It rained lightly, and there was a chill in the air. Reid thought it was appropriate weather. In fact, that's what he told his twin brother, Jed.

Jed just shook his head as they watched the cemetery workers begin to lower the coffin into the earth. "I just can't believe he's gone. And the way he died…" He sniffed and began to walk up the hill back to the car.

Reid followed after him quickly. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. The cops don't know what happened to him. But I do."

Jed looked at his brother as they approached the car. "What happened?" he said in a hushed voice.

Reid motioned for him to get in the car, and as they drove away, he explained it.

"It was that serial killer that's been on the news. He did it."

"But why?"

Reid looked over at Jed with a condescending look. "Because he was special. And, being his brothers, we're special too."

Jed shook his head, almost shyly. "I'm not special, Reid. I've always been a nobody."

"Well, not anymore. We're not like other people, and we're going to use that to our advantage."

At this point, Jed had been looking out the window. He didn't like this conversation. Reid was always pushing him into something. He was devastated by their brother's death, and he wanted to see justice served, but he was afraid of going down the path Reid was beginning to lead him.

"I don't think I can--" Jed began, turning to look at Reid, then gasped. He wasn't there!

"Oh my—oh my God!" Jed cried. But then, he began to see the outline of a body in the seat, hands beginning to materialize on the steering wheel. Eventually Reid was back, smiling at Jed.

"How—how did you do that?" Jed asked in shock.

"I'm special," Reid smiled, now pulling into their parents' driveway where the funeral reception was going to be held. "And so are you."

Reid got out of the car and walked over to the passenger seat, opening the door. "Come on," he said to the stunned Jed. "We'll have something to eat, then go upstairs to our old bedroom…and work out our plan."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCC

They had been traveling for two days, going over 1,000 miles. They were now somewhere in Kansas, desperately looking for a hotel but seeing nothing but farmland.

Claire sat in the passenger seat, feeling awful, while Sylar gripped the steering wheel and looked around him frantically. She noticed his jittery behavior and called him on it.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked.

Sylar looked at her with almost a look of panic. "I'm a city person," he said. "Being out in the country like this makes me nervous."

"Why do you prefer cities?" she asked, wincing in her own pain.

"Because I was raised in the city. And…because it's easy to lose yourself in the city. You can be anonymous."

Claire nodded. "I guess for someone who…used to do what you did, the city is a good place to be. In a place like this, everyone can see how bad you are." With that last word, she moaned lightly.

Sylar heard it, but was too focused on getting them the hell out of there to ask what was bothering her. Finally, miraculously, there was a sign for a town in the next ten miles. Sylar hit the gas as hard as he could and they zoomed down the road.

They got to the little town, and instantly felt out of place. Their sleek new mustang was a glittering centerpiece compared to all of the pick up trucks, station wagons, and cars of the like—designed to carry young broods, livestock, and crops. Their career casual, dark clothing made them look like "city folk," Claire was sure.

They found a small motel in the center of town, and checked in. They were told they only had one vacancy, double beds. Sylar knew Claire would prefer her own room, but she seemed preoccupied with something. Which was fortunate, because he was in no mood to argue with her.

They got to their room, and immediately Sylar put his bags down and lay on one of the beds. He could hear Claire moving around lightly, probably putting things away, but he was too tired to ask. He was asleep before he knew it.

When he awoke again, it was nearly sunset. He looked at the time and realized that he had been sleeping for eight hours. He turned over onto his side, where the other bed was. But Claire was not there.

"Claire?" he called out, in a muffled voice, his face pressed against the pillows. No answer. Then his eyes focused on the next bed, the covers pulled back. He shot up out of bed and went over to it. There was a tennis-ball sized blood stain on the sheets. Granted, that was not a lot of blood, but what the hell was it doing there?

"Claire?" Sylar called out again, a little louder this time. "This is not funny!"

He walked to the bathroom, which was open. She wasn't in there. Then he looked in the trashcan which stood between the bedroom and the bathroom, and gasped. He pulled out the long, button-down white shirt she had been wearing. The bottom had blood on it.

Sylar was in a panic. Something had happened to her. But how could something have happened here, with him asleep in the very same room? How could she have gotten hurt, with all the powers he had? He didn't know what he was going to do, but he knew he had to find her.

He frantically tried to find the shoes he was wearing, and began to tie them up when the door began to open. Sylar stepped back and held up his hand, ready to repel the person who might have hurt Claire.

But then, much to his relief and bewilderment, it was Claire, holding a plastic bag from a local drugstore. She smiled sadly. "Hello," she said simply.

Sylar stood in shock, but quickly gathered himself. "What happened to you? Where the hell did you go? Did someone hurt you?" He fired the questions at her, finally putting his hands on her shoulders and looking at her in the face to make sure.

She looked up at him in perplexed surprise. "I'm fine, Sylar, thank you." She stepped out of his hands and walked to the bathroom.

"But—but—the sheet! There was blood on it! And—and your shirt! You're not fine, something happened!"

Claire blushed slightly, and turned her head. "It's nothing, Sylar. Just let it go."

"I'm not going to let it go! You don't just bleed for no reason."

She sighed, as if she was about to explain something to a child. "No, there was a very good reason. It happens to me quite often."

Sylar opened his mouth again, then realization hit him. He began to recall his sex education class in junior high. Bleeding that happens often. All he could say was, "Oh."

She nodded, looking somewhat embarrassed. "We've been running for a while, and I lost track of it. It was so painful yesterday, but I ignored it and went to sleep not long after you. I awoke when I felt my bed was wet. I got up and walked over to the drug store nearby and…bought what I needed."

Sylar felt just as embarrassed. But he pointed out, "the motel's sheets…"

"I already spoke to the front desk clerk about it and paid for them. She understood."

Sylar felt relief wash over him. Claire was fine. A bit uncomfortable and in pain, but fine. "Well, I'm sorry that has to happen to you," he told her, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

Claire laughed gently. "To be honest with you…I'm glad it happened."

"What?" Sylar said in confusion. "Why would you be glad about having to go through that month after month?"

"Do you remember what happened about a month ago?" she asked him.

It became clear to him. They had been together in Washington a month ago. Wild, thoughtless, frenzied sex that brought them together on this journey.

She saw the realization on his face and nodded. "I do want to have children someday, but now is definitely not the time" she stated.

Sylar nodded whole-heartedly in agreement. Feeling drained by the experience, he sat down on his bed.

Claire began taking the sheets off of her own bed and laying them in the corner. "Do you want to have children someday?"

Sylar looked back at her. "I don't honestly know. I've only thought about myself for so long, I've never thought about caring for anyone else, even if it was my own child. And now…well, I don't think I'm the type of man any child would want as a father."

Claire smiled. "But they say a child changes everything about you."

Sylar returned the smile, but sadly. "A child may change you, but it can't erase the past."

Her bed now stripped down to the mattress, Claire lay down and faced Sylar. "The past is gone," she told him. "The worst it can do is haunt you."

Sylar chuckled at her subversive remark and lay down on his bed as well. After a few minutes, he looked over to see that Claire had fallen asleep. He turned back to the wall. He didn't want to tell Claire his true feelings about having a child; that there had been a child he had been interested in raising as his own. Indeed, he would rather have forgotten about it himself.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Mohinder stood at the stove, waiting for the eggs to set so that he could turn them over and create the perfect omelet. He wasn't used to cooking foods like this—cooking at all, actually—but now that he was the foster parent to Molly Walker, he had to learn. And the girl seemed to crave omelets. Mohinder chalked it up to her body recovering from her illness and needing protein for energy. Still, this was her third egg of the day, the first being scrambled for breakfast and a hard-boiled one for lunch. But after all she had endured, who was he to deny her what she wanted?

Molly watched her dark-skinned guardian cooking at the stove and frowned. She could feel his sadness. She wasn't an empath, just an intuitive little girl. The last year had been very difficult on him: losing his father, leaving his home, facing the Boogey-man. She had been through a lot too, but it seemed that everything was harder for Mohinder. At last, she put down her crayons and walked over to him, hugging his waist from behind.

Mohinder was surprised by the sudden pull on him, but he chuckled and said, "They're almost done, sweetheart. Be patient." He turned around and planted a kiss on her head.

Molly smiled. "I'm patient. I just thought you needed a hug."

The Indian geneticist smiled at her. "And it was a very nice one. Now, go set the table. I'll put these out soon."

The girl obediently set out the flatware, while Mohinder emptied the dish of eggs onto the plates. As they were about to eat, he asked, "Would you like the radio on?" To which she nodded.

They listened to the radio, Molly occasionally singing along to a song she knew, which made Mohinder smile secretly. But then, a voice came on and said something that chilled them both to the bone.

On the news today, the body of a woman was found in the woods behind an Ann Arbor high school this morning. The top of her head had been cut away, leaving her brain exposed. Police are attributing this murder to the serial killer known as "Sylar."

Molly looked at Mohinder, panic-stricken. "The Boogey Man! He's back!"

Mohinder was trying to think of the best away to answer the little girl when the phone rang. Somewhat relieved, he answered it. "Hello?" he said tensely.

"Did you just see the news?" the voice on the other end asked, with just as much stress.

Mohinder sighed. "Yes, Matt. I did. He's back," he replied, looking at Molly.

"Are you still living in Flushing?" Matt Parkman asked.

"Yes."

"I'm coming over now. We're going to work out a plan to stop him."

Mohinder paced back and forth. "Matt, are you sure you want to do this? You've only just recovered from your injuries."

"There's no better time than now. We need to act, and bring that son-of-a-bitch down, once and for all. You've got Molly; she'll locate him for us."

Mohinder really didn't want to bring Molly back to all of that mess again, but his duty was to protect her. Admittedly, her gift did provide a certain sense of security in knowing where danger might be. And in knowing the danger, Mohinder could keep her away from it.

"All right, Matt. Come when you can. Molly and I will be here."

Matt arrived three hours later. Leaning on his walking stick, he limped into Mohinder's apartment and gave his friend a hearty handshake. Molly he took in his arms and kissed on the cheek.

She smiled at him. "How's Janice and the baby?" she asked.

Matt smiled back. "They're doing great. The baby will be here in two months." He set Molly down.

"Now Molly," Mohinder began. "We want to find Sylar. Will you use your power to find him for us?"

"So…we can hide from him?" Molly asked hopefully.

The two men looked at each other. "No, Sweetie. So we can find him and punish him for what he's done," Matt explained.

Molly looked terrified. "He'll kill us!"

"No, he won't," Matt knelt down, and winced, feeling the pain as he did that. "We'll be prepared for him. We'll make sure that he doesn't hurt you, or me, or anyone else again. But we can't do that without your help. Please. Won't you help us?"

Molly looked over at her guardian, who nodded. "All right," she said. "Get me a map."

Now having the map, and going into her trance, Molly's mind began searching for Sylar. Suddenly, her eyes popped open.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Mohinder asked.

"Am I—am I looking for Sylar, or the guy who killed the man in Michigan?"

The two men looked at each other. "They're the same person," Matt said.

She shook her head. "When I try to think of the Boogey-Man and Michigan, my mind gets…mixed up."

Mohinder looked at Matt. What could that mean? Was it possible that Molly's power was breaking down because of her illness? Had Sylar gained some power that disrupted Molly's? But this wasn't the time. They needed to find Sylar, and the murder in Michigan was the place to start.

"Then…then look for the man who killed in Michigan," Mohinder told her. She nodded and went into her trance again. The two men watched as her hands began to move across the map, finally settling on the northeast part of the country.

She opened her eyes. "He's there," she pointed.

Mohinder held up the map. "Columbus, Ohio. He moves around fast."

"Well, he won't be doing any moving after I'm done with him." Matt stood up and looked at his friends. "We're going to Ohio, and we're going to end this, once and for all."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

They were sitting in a café in New Mexico, sipping coffees and both feeling restless. They didn't really know where to go, or what to do next. Mr. Nakamura said he was sure that cases would find them, but Claire wasn't. She looked at her dark-haired companion and knew he was itching for action. She was sure that times like this probably reminded him of his first life, something he wanted to avoid at all costs.

The answer to her prayers came swiftly and disturbingly. She heard the people inside the lounging area talking in hurried, concern voices. Curious, she walked in, Sylar walking behind her.

Everyone was gathered around the small television, listening. That's when Claire heard it, and thought her heart stopped. Two people were found dead, one in Michigan, one in Illinois, their heads cut open and the brains removed. Slowly she turned to Sylar, a look of horror on her face. He returned the look, with a slow shaking of his head.

She ignored it. Tears already beginning to fall, she ran past him and out of the bar, hearing him call to her but ignoring it. She had almost gotten to the mustang when she felt her muscles stiffen and she stopped in her tracks. He was doing it again.

He came and stood in front of her. Her look was so enraged she could have burned a hole in solid metal.

"You lied to me," she whispered fiercely. "All this time, I thought you were trying to change, but you were just using me."

"Claire, listen to me," he said. "Those murders…they weren't me. I swear they weren't. I've been with you the entire time—you know that!"

Claire narrowed her eyes. "Why should I believe a murderer?" she spat.

Sylar felt his heart drop. "Fine," he said. He released her from his telekinetic hold and began to walk away.

As she watched him go, she heard herself call, "Hey!" He stopped and turned around. She walked up to him so that they were practically touching, and she looked him deep in the eyes.

"You're telling me the truth?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yes!"

"Swear to me then. Swear on your father's life." Claire knew that his father was the one person whose name he wouldn't betray.

He looked at her intensely, but said, "I swear on my father's life."

She took a deep breath, and relented. "Fine. We need to get back on the road and figure out how this is possible." They got into the car, Claire driving.

"It's a copycat killer," Sylar said flatly.

"Well, duh, that's what I figured," Claire said. "The question is, who is it, and how are they doing it?"

Sylar shook his head. "I thought I was so original. I thought that no one would ever try what I had done." He rubbed his chin and stared out of the window.

Claire saw that he was disturbed, but she didn't know if it was because someone had stolen his reputation, or because there were more murderers. So she decided to say something useful.

"If the last murder was in Michigan, maybe he's still there. We should head there."

Sylar shook his head. "If he's trying to be like me, then he's probably left the area already. I know I would."

Claire sighed in frustration. "So how are we going to find him, then?"

Sylar thought about it, then got an idea. "I'll draw him. Maybe something in the picture will lead us to him."

Claire pulled over to the side of the road, then reached for her purse and pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil. Handing it to Sylar, he looked at it incredulously. "You expect me to draw a detailed picture on that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Do you have anything better?

Looking at it again, he shook his head in agreement. He took it from her, then leaned his head back in the seat, exhaling deeply. Claire watched as his eyes turned from coal black to milky white, and he began drawing furiously on the paper. After five minutes, he suddenly took the pencil away, and his eyes returned to normal. He exhaled sharply.

"Let me see," Claire said eagerly.

It was set either at night or late day, because everything was bathed in shadow. There was a man standing in the middle of the street, his arms stiffly at his sides as if ready to do battle, a wild, almost demented, look in his eyes. He was standing near a street corner, but with the amount of darkness Sylar portrayed and the conventional, run of the mill atmosphere, the man could have been everywhere.

Claire sighed in disappointment. "You're going to need to draw again."

Sylar took the picture from her and looked at it closely. "Maybe not," he said. He held the paper up to his face, so closely it was practically touching his nose, then brought it down again. "Sharp and Wall," he said.

"What?"

Sylar looked at Claire. "The street sign on the street corner—it reads 'Sharp' and 'Wall.'"

"So we need to find a city which has two intersecting streets with those names," Claire sighed. "I just wonder how many there are."

Sylar folded up the picture and put it in his pocket. "Time to find the library."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Matt, Mohinder and Molly landed in Columbus the next day. Once they were at the hotel, Mohinder laid Molly, who was by now exhausted and fast asleep, on the bed and closed the door to the bedroom. He sat in the chair outside in the hallway and rubbed his eyes.

Matt walked over to him. "We can't let her sleep, Mohinder. We need her to track him down—now!"

"She needs rest," Mohinder argued. "She's still recovering from her illness. And she's scared. Give her time."

"With every minute we wait, Sylar has another chance to kill," Matt retorted. "We need Molly to find him!"

Mohinder sighed. "I'll go wake her up."

"I'm sorry love, but we need you to find Sylar again. Now, here's a map of Columbus. Can you try?" Mohinder asked. He hated pushing his young charge like this, but he felt a debt to Matt for some reason. The man had suffered much in the last few months, and Mohinder wanted to give him a measure of satisfaction.

Molly sighed and nodded. She went into her trance and starting moving her hands, then opened her eyes. "The Boogey-Man isn't here," she told them.

"What do you mean, Molly? You told us that he was here in Ohio!" Matt argued.

"Yes. The man who did the murder in Michigan is here. But the Boogey-Man is not. At least…not yet," Molly said, a worried look on her face.

Mohinder and Matt looked at each other, then went out into the hallway to talk.

"It must be a power Sylar has gained," Mohinder said softly to Matt. "Somehow, he's been able to disrupt her ability, making her find him in places where he's not."

Matt sighed and pressed his head against the wall. "So…now what do we do? Our tracking system isn't working, he's still committing murders…"

Mohinder then got an idea. He went back in to see Molly, who was now surfing through the channels on the television. He sat on the bed with her and pulled her against him.

"Sweetheart," he began. "When you just did the search, you said that the…Boogey-Man wasn't in Columbus. So where was he?"

Molly shrugged. "He was…"

"Yes? He was where?" Mohinder urged.

"I think…he was on a plane. All I could see were clouds."

Mohinder widened his eyes. "Do you know where he was going?"

Molly shook her head sadly. "I just know that he was traveling on a plane."

Mohinder's mind raced. "Sweetheart, I want you to find him again. Only this time, only think of the man who did the murders in Michigan." He put the map in front of her, and waited.

A few minutes later, Mohinder walked out of the bedroom and shut the door, lost in thought.

"Mohinder?" Matt asked. The geneticist looked up.

"So…? What did she say?"

Mohinder chuckled mirthlessly and said, "I didn't think it was possible…but…I think we're dealing with two killers."

Matt was puzzled. "What?"

"When Molly thinks of Sylar, she sees him on a plane," Mohinder explained. "But I just had her think of the man who killed in Michigan, and again she identified him in Columbus. She was even able to pick out a place where he was right now. I…I don't think we're dealing with the same man."

Matt wasn't so easily convinced. "But he might be disrupting her power, or--"

"Or there might be more going on than we think," Mohinder interrupted. "Look, I have a street corner that Molly gave me. I think we should check it out."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Claire and Sylar got off the plane in the afternoon, then immediately got into a cab to find the street corner in Columbus that he had drawn.

"That was the future I painted, you know," Sylar said. "He might not be there now."

"I know," Claire said. "But we've got no other leads. We'll have to go there."

Sylar smirked and stepped aside. "You lead the way, Chief."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

It really was thrilling, this chase. Knowing that Sylar would track him down, thinking to make him pay. But then the tables would turn, and he'd make that cold-blooded murderer hurt like he'd never hurt before.

He had been keeping track of his movements for quite some time, and after he saw Sylar moving east, he knew he should do that too. He'd left a nice trail of killings to arouse his attention, then he decided to sit still and allow Sylar to find him. Once he knew that Sylar was in his vicinity, he'd leave him a little love note, just so he'd know that he was thinking of him.

"You son of a bitch," he said out loud. "You're going to pay for what you've done to me."

CCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC

Matt had rented a car, and with Mohinder and Molly with him, he drove to the street corner where the little girl had pinpointed the killer's location. Parking in the alleyway, he looked cautiously around, then took out his gun and cocked it.

He looked at his allies. "I'm ready," he said.

Mohinder took Molly's hand and squeezed it. "Sweetheart, you stay in the car. We'll lock the doors. If there is any trouble, I want you to hide on the floor, ok?" Molly swallowed and nodded.

The two men got out of the car, Matt leading. The alleyway seemed quite long, but they were nearly onto the street and could hear the sounds of people's voices and pedestrians.

Then they heard a voice behind them that made the hair on the backs of their necks stand up. "Looks like we have a reunion."

Matt and Mohinder spun around to find Sylar standing there. This was the moment they had waited for—and dreaded. The murderer of their nightmares was here.