Part 2


Fitz did a slow 360 of the parking lot turning from one side to the other. The place was momentarily abandoned, except for Julia inside the store. She wouldn’t be able to see Chase from her location inside the building, because the outside wall where he stood was solid brick. Chase looked up and saw the surveillance camera.

It just might be on.

With no one near to hear, the old man whispered, “Throwaway?”

Chase had been half staring at the sky when the word Throwaway settled just outside his mental grasp. Cocking his head to the left, Chase studied the man for a moment as the word wormed its way into his mind. Flipping back the pages of time, two letters surfaced, K and C.



The face of a young girl began to take shape in his mind…

Throwaway. Prostitute. The bug-wonder boy really is a prostitute?


His mind unable to sort it all out, but still, he could see the pain in her face… and he knew why her face was pained without knowing the details. He also knew that Fitz just made a psychological attack on his mind, his childhood.

The children of the Shelter.

Chase looked upon Fitz as he bubbled with momentary satisfaction; pleased with the reaction that he could clearly see on Chase’s face.

His adrenaline spiked. He could kill the man – here, in this moment.

Chase pulled his head high and stiffened his neck, pitting one foot just in front of the other. Rolling his fingers into a hard fist, he allowed the rage to build as he squeezed his hands with all of his strength. Logic quickly departed and all masked humor vanished. Chase entered a dangerous zone. Lethal hissing disgorged from his lips, “I ain’t ten anymore ‘n your pine box is waiting, old man, however that day may come.”

In silence they stood off, but Chase’s mind was anything but silent. Inside his head he heard a low rumble in the distance moving fast at him like a jet-powered train. The rumble quickly moved to a roaring protest, and he was uncertain if the babble was for him, oragainst him.

Chase silenced the babble with an image of a diamond-shaped casket, custom-made.

Like a pregnant woman in her ninth month, Fitz began to soften, unable to hold his weight upright. A look of uncertainty replaced his smugness. Chase was certain his own body now displayed what his intentions were screaming.

Kill… Kill… Kill now!


Fitz swept the surroundings once again. Likely this time, actually looking for a witness should he need one.

“This is my time now, Fitz. Your ruling days in this Village and over me are done. Done, damn it!”

No response.

Chase held his position, “You started this and I’ll finish it.”

These words mustered up the feel of sweat in Chase’s right hand.

Fitz remained silent, though he was likely searching his mind for another verbal assault to toss out.

Chase bolted his upper body forward without moving his feet.

Fitz stumbled back.

With a light but sarcastic chuckle, Chase mocked, “You know it.”

Chase may never know what leverage just sputtered up the highway in that Volkswagen, trailed by black smoke and sulfur, but something was evolving and Fitz appeared to be losing control.

The old man teetered. Color drained from his face. Chase could see by Fitz’s expression that his confidence was shaken. He let his mind conjure up an image of a lid opening… the lid to a casket. He imagined the diamond-shaped man inside the casket as a grin twisted on his face.

God, I hope so. And let it be soon.

Fitz regained his sense of false dignity as he pulled his thumbs out of the sides of his belt and let his hands fall loosely to his sides. He pulled back his weight, while tugging at his belt to right his pants. Fixing his eyes on the dumpster, the old man studied the distance between them – looking for that safe distance.

He wanted a witness.


Though she would stand for Chase, she would not lie for him. Fitz knew it as well as Chase, and Fitz would use it to his advantage. Fitz’s smugness returned again. He felt safe. Chase readied himself for the blow.

He watched as the old man made his transformation. His facial features began to relax. With his eyes slightly squinted, a smile slowly formed on his tubby cheeks.

The man’s voice returned to a repulsive whisper and mingling with another, perhaps a wicked spirit… the voices resonated as one.

Thrown away and Forgotten.

Chase narrowed his mind and his eyes as he stared at the lips that just whispered… death?

And he knew this without knowing how he knew this; that the combination of these words meant death. Chase thrusted himself forward, and with only a few feet between them now, he could easily kill the man.

Chase spewed, “Who the hell’r you threatnin’ here?!”

Fitz remained still with his eyes fixed upon Chase.

Somewhere in the midst of it, Julia had stepped outside. Other vehicles were pulling in now and Sylar Downs was amongst them; all in total, a small audience.

The old man studied Chase for his reaction to those words, probing inside of Chase’s mind for the memories. Although greatly decreased, Fitz continued to have this power over him and God help him… Chase would kill the man for it someday.

With his back to those who had pulled in, Fitz held his ground as some lingered for gossip-sake while others went about their store business. Sylar Downs had been one of those to go inside.

Chase relaxed his hands only for a moment, enough to allow the blood to return to them.

In a voice as town friendly as he could muster, knowing that he had an audience and now one of his cronies within a safe distance, he dared… “Say hello to Frankie for me would you, Chasee boy.”

In a few strides, Chase closed the distance. Ready in his hand was a… knife.

A knife?

With the feel of sweaty metal in his hand, he knew he looked like a mad man ready to kill as the onlookers began to shift.

Somewhere in the far distance, he heard a small voice. “Chase.”

Blinking once, twice, three times, he gave a light shake of his head shaking the voice off with it. Like a boomerang, the small voice found him again; “Let’s be best friends.”

He let his head bounce part way down, a slight display of momentary defeat. He remembered why he didn’t kill Fitz… why he hadn’t killed him to this day.


Chase looked up and found Julia. It wasn’t Julia’s voice he heard, yet she echoed Frankie’s voice in her steadfast presence. Nan would say, “God speaks to us when we need Him – and in a way that we understand.”

Chase would never understand this spiritual game all about him, but he knew it was real because he’d watched from a distance… both sides of the battle field.

Julia stood her ground. She would not leave now until Chase left. She’d been here before with Fitz and Chase but today – they reached a lethal level.

Chase felt his sensibility being restored. The toxicity that Fitz just spewed all over him was losing its grip. For now at least.

Sylar Downs came around the corner, by now he realized something must be wrong, as the store was completely unattended. With Fitz’s back to him, Sylar looked from Fitz to Chase, then from Chase to Fitz, before turning to Julia.

Julia took her eyes off Chase and looked towards Sylar. Without a word, Chase could hear Julia’s challenge to Sylar, “Are you with us or against us?”

With everyone still, every one silent, Sylar moved first. He slightly tilted his head towards Julia before twisting his upper body in her direction. Having formed a conclusion, he turned back to Chase and nodded.

Using a casual tone, Sylar spoke to the backside of Fitz. “Hey Chief, few things happenin’ you might wanna know.”

With his eyes steady on Chase, Fitz replied to Sylar, “Yes, Captain. Be right there.”

Fitz shot Chase one more challenging glare, and with a neighborly nod he said his farewell, “Good day to you, Mr. Manning.”

With a plastic smile, Chase nodded in continuous affirmation as his words followed Fitz toward the black SUV, “However that day may come…”

Fitz turned to face the onlookers and waved at the small audience with his pudgy, putrid hand as he yelled out, “What a lovely day people. Lovely indeed.”

Julia went back inside. Sylar glanced at Chase with a friendly nod, turned, and headed for his cruiser.

Chase spat on the ground where Fitz had stood and then walked to his truck. He stood there for a moment without opening the door. He watched as Fitz pulled out and Sylar got inside his own vehicle. Chase took a few deep breaths, steadying his heart rhythm. A lot had just transpired, and those who had witnessed it, had no idea how much.

His right hand still felt the phantom sweatiness of metal. Finding it safe now, Chase looked down and opened his hand. It was empty. No knife.

He looked to the back seat of Sylar’s cruiser. No military man with war paint.

Chase Manning knew that his mind worked differently than most. Someday he would snap. He whispered to himself, “Maybe not today. But someday.”

He tapped his pocket, the knife was secure.

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