Kiss of Death

1: Revelation

It was about six-thirty in the afternoon and darkness was beginning to turn the sky a deep shade of purple. Mr. Sam Madison had noticed that business in his small restaurant was slow. In fact, there had been little to no business at all that day outside of a few regulars stopping by for a small cup of coffee. Of course, there was seldom large business during weekdays, especially in that suburban town of Brittany, where most preferred a name-brand cup over a cup from a local business. Besides, Mr. Madison had expected a slow day. Actually, he was thinking of closing shop early. He'd even told his daughter that morning of his expecting a slow day. Perhaps they'd go to the bookstore, he had told her. Anything to get that nuisance off his back. Tomorrow, being Saturday, would be a good work day, anyway. But in the time it took him to make up his mind, another customer came in, and he put the thought aside. Mr. Madison got up from his current spot at the bar and put down the section of the newspaper he had been reading.

The customer, he noticed, had been in his restaurant a few times before. He usually had at least a cup of coffee every time he visited, but occasionally he'd try something new if Mr. Madison pushed him far enough. It wasn't exactly his face that Mr. Madison had recognized. Actually, it would be hard for Mr. Madison to point him out in a crowd. Everything about him was dark, understated. What Mr. Madison could point out, however, was the same broken watch he saw him wearing every time he came into the restaurant. Why he would choose to constantly wear something that was broken was beyond Mr. Madison; he simply assumed it had belonged to a dead relative or girlfriend and left it alone. When he first began visiting the restaurant, the man didn't say much. He'd order something, pay, and leave, nothing more. As the visits became more frequent, they began making small talk. Before long, Mr. Madison knew him, no longer as "the new guy", but Gabriel, though, unbeknownst to him, he was known to others by the name of Sylar. But Gabriel was friendly enough. Mr. Madison still didn't know him very well, but he knew enough to be cordial. Mr. Madison picked up a laminated menu and coffee mug and began walking towards Gabriel's usual spot in the corner near the register. He placed the items down on the table, marveling to himself at how unusually quiet his customer was today. Instead of making conversation as he usually did, he just watched Mr. Madison set his table. It was making Mr. Madison uncomfortable, and, for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. People didn't usually make him that uncomfortable, and Gabriel was no stranger.

"Will I be able to talk you into something to eat today?" he said, meeting his eyes. He kept his eyes locked with Gabriel's, not out of interest, but fear. There was something he saw that, for some reason, had him afraid to look away.

"To be honest, that's not why I'm here." That definitely caught Mr. Madison off guard. He and Gabriel weren't friends. Calling them acquaintances would have even been a stretch.

"What do you need, then?" he asked, trying but failing to hide the nervousness in his voice. "You selling something? Job application? What is it?" Mr. Madison's eyes darted nervously to the bar. There was a panic button behind the counter in case of robberies, and while he hated to write Gabriel off as a criminal, he had to consider what he thought to be the worse case scenario.

"What I need, Sam, is your power." Mr. Madison paused, confused, unsure and afraid. He knew nothing about Gabriel, and yet, somehow he knew too much about Mr. Madison. He knew things Mr. Madison couldn't tell his wife, let alone strangers.

"I'm not sure what you mean," he said, offering a pathetic attempt of a laugh along with it. What he hoped would sound nonchalant only came off sounding forced and dry, and was followed by an uncomfortable cough. He began to wince, but stopped himself from adding to the embarrassment.

"It's pretty obvious that you do," Sylar said, standing. He took two steps forward; Mr. Madison took two steps back. It repeated. And then it repeated again. It was turning into a game for which, usually, Sylar had no patience. Actually, he may have ended it then, had it not been for the one customer who came in after him. There was a brief moment of hesitation: Mr. Madison didn't know whether or not to ask for help and Sylar considered killing them both. Strangely, though, the interruption seemed tolerable to Sylar, so he allowed himself to dangle the chance of escape in front of Mr. Madison. There was a second or two of eye contact before he reached behind Mr. Madison, picked up some silverware, and sat back down. Mr. Madison took it as permission to leave and picked up a mug and menu for the new customer. It was a semi-regular, Thomas, who stopped by occasionally if he wasn't pressed for time. Mr. Madison took an order and gave him a drink, even nodded and responded to his attempts at conversation. Really, though, he wasn't listening. He considered asking Thomas to call the police. It didn't have to be verbally. He could leave a note on his check. But what good would that do if he was dead by the time Thomas left the building? Mr. Madison therefore decided that his best option was to stall. What for he wasn't sure, but perhaps he could create a plan in the meantime. Mr. Madison began to pick Thomas' brain about whatever he could come up with. They discussed anything and everything from final scores of sports he didn't give a damn about to stocks of companies he knew nothing about. And when Thomas felt he had both filled up his stomach and poured out his knowledge, he left, completely unaware of the scene he had been involved in. Mr. Madison took his time cleaning the table, carrying each piece individually and with special care. Sylar watched the whole scene in amusement. He just kept going back and forth, carrying things like crumpled napkins as if they were made of glass. And after the table had been cleared and was clean enough to eat off of, Mr. Madison sighed and turned. Still there. "You're finished now? I'd hate to interrupt." Obscenities flowed from under Mr. Madison's breath. He should've left Thomas a note.

"What if I bargain with you?"

"I'll humor you," Sylar decided.

"My daughter. She has abilities; take her." Mr. Madison couldn't believe the words had come out of his mouth. Surely not, he thought, hoped, prayed. The smirk that grew on Sylar's face proved him wrong. Did he actually...? Did he really?

"I have a feeling she might like to hear that from you." Mr. Madison shook his head. He opened his mouth but words wouldn't come out. He was too selfish. "Call it." He gestured towards the phone on the wall. Mr. Madison's legs began moving of their own accord. The things he'd do to save his own life. He couldn't remember dialing the number, and suddenly hearing his daughter's voice on the other end surprised him. He searched for words.

"Ariana."

"Yeah; what do you need?" she asked. It had taken her four "hello"s to get a single word out of him, and it was getting late. Out of the ordinary, especially on a slow day.

"I need you to-" The sentence was on the tip of his tongue and refused to finish itself.

"Dad?"

"Call the police."

"Why?" Her heart began to beat a bit harder. Nothing about this call sounded okay. None of it. "What's going on?" She didn't want to panic, but was running out of options. "I'm getting in the car. You're at work right?" She couldn't hear the echo of her voice on the phone anymore. She pulled her ear away from the receiver. The call was already over. She got up from her seat on the couch, picked up the car keys, and left.

A/N: This chapter is merely a prelude, I suppose. The main character appears in the next chapter. Let me know what you thought so I can either keep it going or improve in some way.

I don't own any of the Heroes characters. Property of NBC, not me.