Author's Note: First off, I do not own HEROES in any way, shape, or form.

Second, this story is a spin off from ELSEWHERE. While you do not have to read ELSEWHERE to understand it, you should anyway because it is good.

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Like all people, he started his life helpless.

Small, confused, torn from the world he had known, he's cries had broken through the room. A cry that all parents wait to hear.

For the first few hours…all had been well. His father had handed out cigars, filled glasses with fine brandy, and celebrated the birth of his son, of his heir. While his wife lay in bed, recovering from the long hours of labor, he boasted of all the child he'd sired would do.

But as the house had gone to sleep, the man could not contain himself. He had been told he could not see his son, not until they were sure he would survive the night. The doctors did not want the parents becoming attached, should the child be sickly and not make it. But he could not wait till morning to view the boy, to see what his seed had wrought.

And so he had risen from his bed, and made his way to the nursery. He had set up his child in his own wing of the mansion, so that the boy could have his own place to call his own. All the rooms were empty, save for this one at the moment, made up of the finest baby furniture from Europe. The fine oak changing table sat in the corner, linen diapers laid in a pile. To his right the rocker where the wetnurse slept, ready at a moment's notice when the child awoke with an empty belly. A cabinet, filled with silk baby gowns, would finally be used tomorrow. Before him the bassinet, made of elegant maple wood, smoothed to perfection so that no burr or splinter would every mar the boy's soft skin.

And there he was, the boy he had longed to see. Clothed only in a diaper, ivory rattle in his hands as he slept.

"You will do great things, my son. You will bring greatness to me."

As if called by his father's words, the boy let out a yawn, eyes blinking open for the first time.

"Dear God…"

For from the babe's eyes came a glowing red light. Like the fires of hell they were, bathing the darkness with their color. The man stumbled back, and within him suddenly, his emotions changed. Where once there had been love, now only hate bloomed.

"Monster…you birth me a monster."

Never did he place blame upon himself. It was all others. His wife, the doctor, God…all would taste his anger first.

He could not allow anyone to see this…let word get out of his tragedy…let it stain his name.

He could not do the deed himself, however. He could not kill the child, allow his soul to be tarnished.

Better to let another suffer that fate.

Coward.

Thus it was the wetnurse he turned to, that he roused from slumber, and gave the dark deed too. Told her to take the child out at that moment, kill it and leave it in the desert. Let the vultures finish what he himself could not.

And do this she did. Still dressed in her uniform, she left the mansion, the whimpering babe in her arms. She could not afford to anger the master…he had agreed to pay her for her duties and let her take leave. The wealth that would come from this would be well worth the darkness.

It seems the hint of gold is enough to tempt even the most steady of hearts.

And so, it is for this reason that she found herself in the desert, only but for the horse and the child, faced with the task at hand.

"Forgive me."

But when it came to plunging the knife into his chest, spilling his day old blood on the sand…it became clear that gold could not motivate all things to occur.

"God forgive me."

She placed the babe upon the warming sands, without second look driving her horse make to the mansion, to collect her fee and be on her way. Better to let the child die by the elements then by her own hand, I imagine her thought was.

Coward.

The sun was rising now, and with it, the screams of the abandoned child grew fiercer. It would not be long now, not long before he brought the beasts that hide in the rocks till shadow came, brought them to an easy meal. For his flesh was plump and soft, and he was defenseless as they came.

He would leave this world as he had entered it: small, confused, torn from the world he had known.

That…is how it should have been.

But God…it seems…had other plans.

From the west the sound of hooves could be heard, though the child knew not what they were. All he knew was depression and pain, of misery at his fate. He cried out for his mother even as the horse came to a stop, its ride dismounting.

"What do we have here…how did you get here little one."

A priest, a man of the cloth, found in that horrid place, snatched the baby from his sandy tomb and wrapped him in his shirt.

"How did you get here?"

The priest looked up, perhaps wondering if the babe had fallen from Heaven. He could not be for sure, the Bible talked of stranger miracles.

But then, the child opened his eyes, and that red glow lit the holy man's face.

Where the newborn had found only hatred, here, in the one that should have feared him most, he found no question, no denouncement.

"Come along, little one…I will find something to soothe your belly."

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The old man paused, looking out over the palpate, all around him sat in awe, hanging on every word.

"And thus…" He said, "…Father Ellis took the baby, and raised him as his own. And from the baby grew a child, one of glowing eyes and a heart filled with the Lord. For Father Ellis read to him every day the scriptures, and taught him of God's good graces. And he named the child Isaiah…"

"Praise be to God!" All knew this name…and this story. Its telling was tradition.

"Yes, praise be to God." The old minister said. "For where many had seen evil, Father Ellis saw only innocence. Where his father would have shown him only greed and material want, Father Ellis showed him the joy of the Earth, of what could be brought forth by only your own hands."

"Hallelujah!" Someone in the back cried.

"But it was not just Bible verses young Isaiah learned. No…Father Ellis knew that the boy would need much more then this to survive. For the Father had set his church alone in the hot New Mexico desert, where he could study God's will at peace. It was a haven for lost travelers…and had become a home for young Isaiah.

"But the desert, like life, is harsh. There are dangers there…and one can not rely upon only the Lord for safety!" The churchgoers murmured. "I speak the truth, I speak the truth! God wants us to help ourselves and each other, to do what is right and what is needed on our own. It is for this reason he gave us free will, and for this reason that Father Ellis taught Isaiah all he knew.

"By the priest's hand, the boy learned the ways of the knife and of the gun. And it seemed that God had given him those red eyes, the ones that brought his near death when he was but hours old, for this reason. For I say to you, Isaiah saw what no man, let alone boy, could see. He could strike a fly by knifepoint from across the congregation hall. Gun in hand, he could shoot a coyote a mile away, before the beast could even catch his scent. Darkness was like the blazing noon, and in brilliant sun he could see without need to squint. These were gifts of God…gifts others saw as evil!"

"Fools!" A woman shouted.

"Animals!" A man called out.

"Monsters!" A young woman cried, clutching her own baby tight to her breast.

The preacher nodded. "yes…yes my friends…all of this was true. But it did not matter to young Isaiah. For he had the love of his father and the safety of the church…that was all he would need.

"And thus the boy became a man, following in his father's footsteps. It was Father Ellis himself that gave him the blessing, gave him the cross and dubbed him a holy man. He would carry on as the father had, in peace and solitude with the Lord.

"But…but like all good things, my children…like each and every paradise…the greed within man's heart…ruin ever the purest of things."