Heroes Fan Fiction ❯ Girl in the Painting ❯ Chapter Two ( Chapter 2 )

Girl in the Painting

 

Chapter Two

 

Claire frowned as she looked out the car window, the cool breeze grazing her face. She sighed, exhausted by the events from hours ago that replayed over and over in her mind.

 

“They weren't my real parents, were they? You lied about it, didn't you?” Claire had yelled at her `foster' dad. He tried to get a word in edgewise, but she wouldn't let him. He tried to hug her, but she backed way. She didn't want him to touch her - not ever again. With resolve she said, “I found my real mother, and she's taking me to meet my real father.”

 

“Claire-bear…”

 

“No! Don't call me that anymore!” She was crying now. She had lost so much. She had trusted so much. Tears ran down her cheeks, and she bit her lip. She gave the man who raised her a pitying stare. “I don't know who you are anymore. I don't know you at all.”

 

She looked to her mom and Lyle, and she sniffled. She gave them a pleading look. “I'm sorry. Please understand. I can't stay here. Not after all he's done to me… or to you.”

 

She felt so torn between them, but Claire knew she had to go with Meredith. She had to go to New York to find her father … and to find out the truth about her powers. She couldn't live this lie anymore. And as much as she felt sorry for her mother and her brother Lyle, especially after all her father had put her through, she didn't belong here.

 

Not anymore.

 

The driver outside honked the horn. Claire turned around, and she looked back at her parents. Her father was clutching her mother tightly as she cried. Her brother looked at her with confusion. Claire wondered if they had any inkling on what was going on. How much of their memories did he erase? How much of their life did he take away from them?

 

She gave her dad one last sour look. “I'm going, and don't try to stop me. My things have already been packed in the U-Haul, and my real mom and I are leaving.”

 

Claire looked to the ground sadly, and she clutched her backpack tightly. She glanced around her home one more time, the place where she grew up. `It's not my home anymore,' Claire thought, and she felt sadness swell up in her stomach. `I don't know if I can ever come back here.'

 

“Goodbye,” she said looking away. She didn't dash out the door like she wanted to; instead, she walked out slowly and didn't look back.

 

There was no way her father could stop her. Not if this was her very own decision. Legally, Meredith could have a say in where Claire lived, and if they took her to court, Claire would undoubtedly go with Meredith.

 

She sighed as she looked at Meredith in the car, giving her a sad smile. `It's time I learned everything, and lived in truth… not in a lie.”

 

And she hopped into the car next to Meredith, a woman she hardly knew, but a mother she'd always been searching for.

 

--

 

“Claire?” Her mother drew her out of her reverie. Claire blinked and looked to her side. Meredith glanced over at her in concern. “Are you alright, sugar?”

 

Claire smiled, but her mother didn't seem convinced. She sighed. “Someday, my little girl's smile is going to be real and not so sad.”

 

“I'm sorry, Meredith… I don't know how can be happy. I just left my family - willingly,” Claire said.

 

“It's okay sweetie. It's a horrible time, but someday you'll be happy again.” Meredith paused, and she pouted as Claire still didn't cheer up. She added, “I just hope I can be a good mom for you. I haven't had much practice.”

 

Claire smiled at her. “Don't worry. I'm glad just to find you, Meredith.”

 

“Please, honey, call me Mom.” Meredith looked at her with pleading eyes.

 

“Okay… Mom,” Claire said hesitantly with another small smile.

 

“That's alright. You'll get used to it,” she replied cheerfully. “If you say it enough, it'll start to fit.”

 

Claire looked ahead at the Texas highway that stretched on forever. The sun began to set on the desert, and the wind became colder. Claire rolled her window up, but Meredith kept hers down. Claire shivered, but her mother didn't seem to notice that she was cold.

 

Meredith sighed, rubbing her hand over the steering wheel. “I always wanted a 67 Mustang. It was nice of your daddy to give me one for the drive up.”

 

“Oh? My real dad gave this to you? Did you ask him for it?” Claire asked, curious to why she would ask for such a vintage car. It must have been expensive.

 

“Why sure, honey. My trailer heap wasn't going to last on the road, and your daddy was very anxious for us to come to New York. I told him get me a 67 Mustang and we'd be up there in a flash.” She giggled. “Ah, I miss how persuasive men can be.”

 

Claire didn't say anything, and she felt her mother was acting somewhat silly. She pouted and slumped in her seat, looking out her window. `Am I going to be like that someday?' She shuddered. Meredith was a nice lady, but so far, Claire felt she was kind of a bimbo. She hoped her opinion would change.

 

--

 

After a few days staying in cheap hotels and driving long boring distances, Claire and Meredith finally made it to New York.

 

Claire had never been to New York, so when they arrived to their tiny apartment on the edge Queens, she felt nervous about all the people and scrunched and staked buildings. The air was rancid, smelling of exhaust and sewage. It had just rained that morning, so the streets appeared wet with filth. Cars buzzed down the roads, and for every minute she could hear impatient drivers honking their horns madly.

 

Meredith seemed cheerful as ever. She threw out her hands and said, “Hello, New York!” Someone down the street yelled at her to shut up, and she started laughing. She put an arm around a stunned Claire. “Ah, it's been so long since I've been here. Isn't this a great city?”

 

She looked expectantly to Claire. “I don't know yet,” Claire replied, smiling sheepishly. “It seems kind of gross here… and noisy.”

 

“Oh, you'll get used to it. Here, let's start unpacking! We actually got a flat on the bottom floor, can you believe that? I'd hate to have to drag all my furniture up a flight of stairs.” She giggled again, and then began unlocking the key to the U-Haul. “We'll take turns dragging stuff in. You get stuff ready, and then I'll take them in.” She surveyed the neighborhood and sighed. “We'll probably have to keep an eye on our stuff as we move in.”

 

“Okay,” Claire said, and after Meredith opened the door on the U-Haul, she began organizing stuff to be taken in. Suddenly, Meredith's cell phone rang, and she gave Claire a strange look.

 

“I'll be right back, honey; it's an important call.” Claire nodded, curious to whom the caller was.

 

She wondered if it could be her real dad.

 

--

 

“Hey,” Meredith said in a low voice. “We're here, and we're unpacking now.”

 

“I want you to take Claire somewhere after you two get unpacked. I found Claire a job until I hire the private tutor.”

 

“Okay. Where is this place? And why do you want her to go there?” she asked, and the caller sighed heavily into the phone.

 

“Just don't ask too many questions. Take her tomorrow to this address. Do you have a pen?”

 

“Yes,” Meredith answered, her jubilation disappearing as her caller became terse with her. Meredith grabbed a pen and notepad from her jacket pocket and started to write.

 

“Take her to 215 Reed St. #7 in New York. That is a studio of an artist named Isaac Mendez. He's hiring her to be his assistant.”

 

“But why?” she asked. She was confused to why this was so important to him. Why an artist?

 

“If Claire wants to know more about her powers, she needs to go here and meet the artist. This artist can paint the future.”

 

Meredith gasped, and she didn't respond right way. Finally he said, “He's painted her before, and she's a lot more involved in our lives than you may think.”

 

Meredith inhaled a draught of breath, and said, “I understand. I'll do it.”

 

“Good,” Nathan said. “9 o'clock sharp in the morning. Remember, Meredith.” Then, he hung up. Meredith sighed, and then rubbed her arms. She had forgotten how cold New York was going to get in the end of October. She walked back, and she started to help her daughter move into their new home.

 

--

 

“Nathan, this is Isaac.”

 

“Ah, just the man I wanted to talk to,” Nathan said, answering his secure phone. Not even Peter, his mom, or Heidi knew about this phone. It was just some cheap pay-as-you-go phone, and it came in handy with dealing with matters when he didn't want to be traced.

 

“What is it?” Isaac queried, holding his news until Nathan shared his first.

 

“Claire's here in New York with her mom. They moved over to Queens. Claire's coming tomorrow at nine.”

 

“Ah,” Isaac said, biting on his lip. He still really didn't want to take this girl in, but Nathan was paying him, and he did want a chance to keep an eye on Bennet's girl. Besides, he wanted to meet the girl who had always been in his paintings. “Fine. I'll be ready for her.”

 

“Great. Now why did you call me again, Isaac?” Nathan asked, remembering that Isaac had called him first.

 

“Well, since you've been here, I've been painting nothing but Claire. And her mom, and you too.” Isaac paused.

 

Nathan anxiously interrupted him. “And Peter?”

 

Isaac inhaled a deep breath. “Yeah, I've painted Claire with Peter, most likely meeting him soon. In the painting, they're meeting in Central Park.”

 

“Great!” Nathan said. “There's hope yet to find my brother. Did you paint anything else?”

 

Isaac hesitated for a moment, and then he replied. “No… no, that's it so far.”

 

“Well, good work. Keep me posted. This phone is about to run out of minutes, so I'll let you know when I get a new number. And if you paint anymore of Peter, I'll need all the clues I can get.” Nathan seemed overjoyed, and before hanging up, he added, “This is good news. It at least confirms he's still in New York.”

 

“Yeah,” Isaac said, and Nathan said goodbye. Isaac exhaled heavily, and threw the phone down on the receiver. He started nervously biting a loose hang nail on his thumb.

 

Sauntering over to his easel, he stared intensely at one of the paintings he did of Claire.

 

“There was no way I could tell Nathan Petrelli about this painting,” he said aloud. He traced a finger slowly down the flesh toned strokes and warm yellow tertiary hues. The subject gazed at him innocently, scared to be revealed but comfortable in a candlelit setting. Out of the window of indoor tranquility, the city raged in fire - fire that resonated with the heady look in her eyes.

 

Shaking his head, he wrapped up the painting in a raw piece of canvas, and tucked it away behind his bed, a hiding place where he hoped no one would look.

 

No one should see this painting - not Simone, not Claire and definitely not Nathan Petrelli. And he would hide it, tucking it away until he knew what it really meant.