A Capable Woman 22/28 Peter, Nathan, Angela, Linderman

Chapter 22

(Angela, Peter, Nathan, Charles, Linderman)

Later That Day

Angela Petrelli walked into her bedroom at a quickened pace, she wasn’t going anywhere important, she just always carried herself as if she was. Some would say she was impatient, like not wanting to wait for the elevator to come, but when Angela Petrelli didn’t wait and took the stairs instead, she called it determination.

She tossed her purse onto the bed with a grace and femininity that still had the forcefulness of her queen-like gestures. She quickly, with only three tugs on the latches, had her coat off and tossed on the bed with the efficiency of a general. It was just her way. Nothing in her life was done lightly now, it was always done with a sense of purpose.

Angela caught herself in the mirror as she turned and flung her hair off her forehead with her fingers, tossing her head with her new short haircut - she had cut it almost all off a few months before Arthur died. It took less time, for time was one thing that was in short supply, and it gave her a sense of empowerment. Arthur always liked her hair long.

She sighed at the weight and the burden she saw in her reflection. She felt too young to be a grandmother and a widow, but it was just who she was now - it was the reality. Soon she found herself setting on the side of her bed before lying down, taking another slow breath in and out.

And then she turned for her purse and found herself staring down Arthur’s side of the bed. It looked so cold and empty and she felt his absence. And the next thing Angela knew she had pulled herself to his side of the bed, raising the skin of her finger tips over his pillow before leaning in and taking hold of it. She smelled it, and it smelled like him. Tears came to her eyes and the emotion churned inside of her and even though she was alone Angela Petrelli wouldn’t let herself cry and she fought it, she fought it hard as it built up in her throat.

And she hated him, hated him for leaving her, she hated him for being so selfish, she told herself, but it was the most unselfish thing a man could do. She tried every reason in her head to blame anyone but herself, for Angela knew deep down inside that Arthur Petrelli had killed himself for her, for Claire – his family – all because Angela had asked him to do it. She asked him, and he obeyed her wishes - after all those years.

Angela couldn’t bare the thought, no matter how necessary she knew it was, that she only had herself to blame. For Angela Petrelli knew and understood, and practiced, the art and actions by cutting out one’s heart – she knew it was necessary to sacrifice her needs for the sake of the larger whole - a greater good. Her brain understood, but her heart just didn’t. And she still struggled with that.

And she heard the words run through her head that her husband had said to her, so many years ago, when she was still just a child of 19, “I promise I will never hurt you,” and the rage seethed up inside of her.

Angela eyed a paperweight on Arthur’s side of the bed and she found herself grabbing it and throwing it straight in front of her, until it smashed the mirror of her vanity with a crash. Angela saw her distorted image looking back at her and she again cursed Arthur to the heavens.

But on Angela Petrellis’ finger still laid her wedding ring and her engagement ring. And she would never take them off until she was forced to by armed guards after she had been arrested for murder only about a year later. And actions speak louder than words.

That night Angela dreamt of Peter jumping off a roof. She thought it was metaphorical; she was wrong.

When Nathan called her early that morning to tell her what had happened, he let her down easy, he did what his mother would do and had done before; he used facts to spin lies to hide his own secrets.

“I think he tried to kill himself, Ma.” Nathan finally told her. She knew he was lying. He was using his father the way Angela soon would - Like mother, like son.

“It’s alright, dear. I’ll be right there.”

And like any normal mother, Angela Petrelli stopped off at Bloomingdales first and bought her son what she felt he needed - a sweater. Why she had no idea, it was her mother's instinct kicking in perhaps. He needed a nice cardigan sweater; he couldn’t afford such things, or chose not to wear them. She just found herself doing it.

Perhaps it was because of what she was about to do. To protect her son Angela Petrelli was on her way to call her son crazy -- sick. To protect her secrets, Angela Petrelli would be lying to Peter. It was a plan she didn’t even have to think about, it was just instinct. After all, in her mind, she was protecting him.

When she saw him there in the hospital bed, Angela had sudden flashes of that boy long ago. Not just her own son, but the boy she saw vulnerable and lying on that cold slab at Primatech research - the other empath. Her eyes filled with small tears as she smiled at Peter from the other side of the glass.

Peter looked at her sheepishly as if he wasembarrassed.

It was time to spin her half-truths. It was time to do what she felt was the right thing, under the circumstances.

“Help me understand what you were doing on that roof,” she said with her all her strength and force.

“I can’t. Not yet, but I will. You just have to trust me.”

And there it was, that look, the look Charles had talked about, the look she hadn’t seen for some reason. It was official. Peter tried to fly. She knew it. He had absorbed her power and Nathan’s power and he didn’t even know it. And as far as she was concerned, he never would.

Angela sat down on the bed. “There’s something you need to know about your father’s death” This was a truth. “He commented suicide. “ This was a half truth.

“What?”

“He committed suicide, I found him on the floor of the bathroom.” Near the bathroom, in the bathroom, same difference.

“You said he had a heart attack.” Peter was more than taken aback

“I lied -- for his reputation” Half truth. “His heart was fine.” That was a full out truth.

“But he had two other’s before that.”

“Well, I lied about those, too,” Angela was agitated.

This was the truth. She always lied for Arthur, to protect their secrets, she always lied. “Suicide attempts. Both of them. He finally got what he wanted.” And this Angela believed was the truth for she felt she had seen her husband slowly killing himself for years, just for different reasons.

And she told him all about how Arthur had been diagnosed with manic depressive disorder, which was a truth, she may have fudged the age who knows, the lie was just going on so long, it took on a life of itself – but it was the truth. She told him how they didn’t want to tell him because he was too sensitive. This was true for other reasons.

“It was just who he was.” Angela said, which for other reasons was a truth within itself. What Arthur had may not have been chemical, but it was something he had been born with.

“...genetic link...” ran off her lips like honey. Arthur and herself had for sure passed something down to Peter, but it wasn’t depression - If only it was, she thought.

Everything Angela Petrelli told Peter was the truth in some respects and the intention behind it was honest. Angela Petrelli was honestly concerned for her son’s life, but none of what she said was honest.

And then those words. Those words from so many years ago that ran off the doctor’s lips like steel pins, dripped off her own lips to Angela’s son. “Delusions of grandeur.” Just another truth molded to her fancy. “Thinking you're invincible or indestructible. They are irrational thoughts that then turn suicidal.”

This of course was not true, but it was nothing that Arthur Petrelli hadn’t gone though. It was nothing the doctors hadn’t told her when he came back from Vietnam. Nothing the two of them hadn’t struggled with, before they knew, nothing that wasn’t apart of their lives at some point.

It was for his own benefit she told herself. Angela felt she had to be cruel to save her son from an even crueler fate. The end justify the means, and as she told herself, none of it was entirely false. She just deleted the, “special” details.

And then Angela Petrelli became overcome with emotion, because the sentiment behind her lies was true, she was trying to save her son’s life. This was always the goal. After all she had loved him even before he was born. “Because there’s something else I never told you.” She tried to hold it in, but it was hard. “Come here...,’ she whispered and they leaned into each other. “You were always my favorite. I cannot lose you.” And it was the truth. And Angela Petrelli had just proved how much she didn’t want that to be true, by her words and her actions.

And when Nathan used it all in public to protect himself from any further scrutiny she turned toward Peter at the back of the hall with utter concern, watching him walk, humiliated, from the room.

“Oh, Peter,” she thought, but Nathan’s actions didn’t surprise her and she understood it.

It was everything she tried to tell Peter in the police station. Nathan was just like his father. For when a Petrelli used someone else to keep their own secrets, no matter what the cost, she knew it was nothing more than a genetic link. It all just had to be done; it was the right thing to do. Angela felt for her sons, but as long as they were alive, she didn’t care where her actions took her. It was just who she was now.

Later that night Angela was driven home from Nathan’s fundraiser as the gloomy day’s rain hit her window and drizzled down like crystal veins. Many times Angela Petrelli had lost consciousness in the back of a car, while her driver drove her home, dreaming of some horrible future. A future Angela would then have to push back into her mind, recovering as quickly as she could from the fright so not to let her face give her away, or not to go mad.

But somehow today as Angela gazed out of her back car window her thoughts didn’t go to the future, but to the past. And her eyes weren’t closed, but open, heavy, but open as her mind went to a place it rarely went anymore, the past.

Angela rested her hand on the edge of the door as the headlights outside made the dark car fill with light in intermediate shards and flashes. Suddenly, the edge of her fingertips felt something cold and metal.. She reached into

Arthur had a nasty habit of leaving his cuff links in the car door at the end of a long day - somehow after six months no one had found it.

Angela lifted the cuff link up to the window and into the light to get a good look at it and it was then that a memory came to her mind - just another lie in the cog of her life - just another moment in which she was doing what she did the most these days: deceiving her sons. the small shelf in the car window and out of the darkness pulled out what appeared to be a cuff link - it was Arthur’s.

Arthur had a nasty habit of leaving his cuff links in the car door at the end of a long day - somehow after six months no one had found it.

Angela lifted the cuff link up to the window and into the light to get a good look at it and it was then that a memory came to her mind - just another lie in the cog of her life - just another moment in which she was doing what she did the most these days: deceiving her sons.

Four months before...

Angela Petrelli’s boys were different, that was for sure. And not in the way that made them special, just in the way that made them human. If Angela went a day, a week or even more than that without hearing from Nathan, she wasn’t surprised. She never had a bad thought, most of the time she was the one calling him. If Peter went a day or two without calling he, she would worry - It was just his nature.

After Arthur died Peter seemed to call her with more concern in his voice, ask her to get out more, take a class, none of which interested her - besides she had enough on her plate for the things that were to come.

Peter’s concern also meant he would get the urge to personally check up on his mother, which lead to a few unannounced visits – which for a woman who kept secrets, wasn’t the best of situations.

Peter Petrelli walked into his childhood home dressed the way he was a lot lately. Blue scrubs, red hoodie, a tan coat and a messenger bag slung over one shoulder to the other hip. He was more than surprised when he found the front door open. Even more so when he had to dodge out of the way of a man exiting the house with a box full of clothes.

He had that confused, inquisitive look on his face he often had. Peter watched as two other men, with boxes, walked down the stairs and through the foyer as he entered. Peter figured they could only be coming from one place.

Peter followed the group of men like a parade, until it led him right into his mother’s bedroom where he could see her standing inside what had been his father's walk-in closet. She was signing a clipboard for one man before he exited followed by another man who was holding a large box. Peter moved out of the way to let the men pass and that was when Angela saw him.

“Peter?! I wasn't expecting you. Don't you have work."

Peter noticed right away how half the closet was completely empty.

Peter kissed his mother on the cheek, which was expected. "I took a later shift. What's going on here?"

"I'm finally getting rid of your father's things."

"Are you sure you want to do that?"

"Whose gonna wear them. Me? You?" She walked to a box and folded some shirts into it. "Nathan's not one for vests." She gestured with her head.

"Yeah, he sure had a lot of them." Peter looked around.

"Your father loved a good three-piece suit" She paused from her folding for a moment to reminisce, she shook it off and flushed the image from her mind.

"You mean you liked him in a three-piece suit." He gave his mother a look.

Angela shot a glare back at Peter, but it was somehow playful.

"You're sure this is what you want to do?” Peter asked her again.

"It's just taking up empty space. It's time to move on."

"I don't believe you."

"Your choice." She continued her folding.

Peter took her hand to stop her from packing. "I just think in a few months from now, a few weeks from now you might look back and regret this. Wait. Wait a few more months, then decide."

"You can help me pack or not. I'm not changing my mind." She walked away from Peter and took what looked like the last pairs of shoes and threw them in another box.

"You're as stubborn as Nathan sometimes."

She shot him a look. "Look whose talking?" She smiled. "Who was it when he was it six wouldn't budge until someone bought him a red shiny radio flyer?"

"I was four."

"No excuse." She tossed it off.

Peter laughed.

"We all share DNA Peter, we just manifest it in different ways." She paused realizing what she had said, it was very unlike her to slip like that. Angela picked up the box and handed it to Peter. "Well, if you're going to be in my way, you might as well help."

Peter felt the weight of the box for a moment, not realizing how heavy it would be.

Angela walked away from Peter and started opening drawers to be sure she had everything.

"I think you should reconsider, really. Give it some time-"

Angela opened up the last of the empty drawers with a strong pull. She had pulled open the drawer with so much force that two small cuff links shot forward from the back of the drawer where they had been hiding.

Angela wasn't expecting them to be there and it was as if she had been visited by a time traveler - and her heart skipped a beat- they were the cuff links Arthur had worn on their wedding day. She could see his large smile as he adjusted them on his sleeve cuff, the cockiness in his head bob - they simply said AP on each face.

"I know you're lonely, Mom. You have every right to be, but getting rid of his things - it's not going to make you feel any different. Cutting him out of your life like this... I think it's something when you look back on, you'll regret."

Angela scooped up the cuff links and slammed the drawer shut, almost ignoring what Peter had to say, but really trying to stop herself from exploding with emotion. She took two quick steps and took hold of Peter's left hand, which was still holding the box, taking his fingers forcefully and putting the cuff links into his palm before clasping it closed tightly with her own hand. Peter saw the tears and sadness in his mother's eyes, behind the pulled in emotion.

"You should have something of your father's." And then she left his side.

Peter watched as his mother walked out, concerned for her as he always was, when the cuff links fell from his grasp to the floor.

Peter grunted and knelt down to the floor, holding the box under his left arm to grab the cuff links to his left . When he found one had rolled away, he put the box down and reached his arm to where it lay. As Peter reached out his arm he noticed something against the wall, it looked like a spot of blood. When he looked closer he saw it was blood, blood that had dried and had dripped down into the carpet.

"Mom!" Peter yelled to his mother. "Mom, what's this? Come in here."

"What's what dear?"

"Is this blood?"

"What , no. I'm sure it's not."

Angela flashed back to a day many years ago, but not that far away. She came home to an empty house, she thought. Made her way into her bedroom and set a few bags of clothes in her closet. It was when she entered Arthur's closet that she had an uneasy feeling. She smelled blood on the carpet and if there was one thing Angela knew the smell of, distinctly, it was blood - she soon found Arthur covered in blood and slumped in the corner, he tried to speak, but he

In the present Angela easily smiled at Peter.

"Its nothing Peter, just let it be - I'll have it cleaned in the morning. I'm sure Monty or Simon was in here with something or another - I wouldn't let it worry you."

Angela again flashed to that same day in the closet, Arthur bleeding on the ground, but this was moments later and Angela Petrelli stood in front of her husband, facing her assailant, her shoulder bleeding profusely with blood, her body heavy and her head lightheaded, barely able to lift the gun in her hand she fired and shot the woman in front of her dead.

Angela took a deep breath and she was no longer able to hold the gun up as her body was so weak. As her arm dropped the gun fell loose from her hand and onto the ground. Still Angela used all her power to stand upright and with her other hand took her cell phone from her pocket and hit the first number in her memory: Linderman.

"We've been ambushed at the house, we're upstairs in the bedroom, we need your help." And Angela Petrelli hung up the phone and passed out.

In the present Angela Petrelli reminded her son he had to be at work soon and he left her alone. It was time for Angela to move on.

The Present

September, 2006

Then Angela’s phone rang and took her back to her reality and just as if it had woken her from a dream, the shock of the phone made her jump. She was riding in her car, back from Nathan’s fundraiser, as the gloomy day’s rain hit her window and drizzled down like crystal veins.

“I’m just checking in on you, Angela.” He asked, sounding all-knowing.

It was like he was trying to take Arthur’s place in all aspects of her life. Take up the space that Arthur had once breathed in. To Arthur’s son, his wife and the world. It had nothing to with caring, and had everything to do with sport.

“Why is that? she asked coldly.

“Seeing your husband die in front of you – no matter how much of a traitor he was... well it can change a person’s mood—“ He gauged her.

“I have seen my husband die so many times...” She retorted. “Literally and figuratively, why should this time be any different?”

“If you knew anything, Angela. About the girl? You’d tell me wouldn’t you?”

“Why would I keep secrets from you, we have a world to save.”

“Good.” He smiled. What Angela Petrelli didn't know was that Linderman was looking at a painting of Claire when he said that to her and he and Bob knew who she was for a long time now. Bob had sent his daughter Elle to watch the girl, but when nothing seemed to happen it seemed a misuse of her time and she was taken off the assignment. That didn't mean Linderman, Bob and the Company weren't watching the Bennets from afar.

That night Angela Petrelli had a dream with the words “Save the cheerleader, save the world.” She had no idea what it meant, and she told no one. But, one thing did worry her, Claire was now a cheerleader. It was just another secret Angela kept from Daniel Linderman.

Angela Petrelli found herself in very unfamiliar places when she dreamed at night, but on this night, only a few days after Peter had jumped from that rooftop, Angela Petrelli found herself on a rooftop of a different kind, from her young adulthood, or childhood as she would mockingly call it in her head: The Deveaux Rooftop. She was dressed in her robe and nightgown.

The first thing Angela noticed when she walked out onto Charles’ roof was that it was cold. She undid her robe and pulled it closer to her before tying it closed again for warmth. It was the first thing she remembered because the rest of the scene she had been seeing for years. The broken down city, burnt, on fire, melted down to nothing, just the burnt ashes of devastation. Angela was having another one of those dreams.

Suddenly a deep male voice came from the shadows. “I guess when you see that kind of devastation for so many years, you kind of become desensitized to it?”

Angela turned toward the doors to the roof as a man walked out of the shadows. That man was Charles Deveaux. He was dressed the way he was the last time she saw him, a nice pair of pajamas, a blue pinstriped robe, and he was no longer in a wheelchair. He was walking toward her.

“But you...” Charles glared at her with a sly smile. “I just don’t know...” He smiled. “Hello, Angela. I think we need to talk.”

To be continued...

Chapter 23

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