blooming bruise to make his eyes appear hooded and sinister.
“Promise me you’ll behave while I rest?”
“I promise,” Brea told him sweetly. “And I’ll even stick a pizza in the oven for when you wake up.”
“Thanks, sis,” Sylar sauntered back towards the house, his shoulders slumped. Brea watched him with a heavy heart. She knew that she couldn’t let him keeping supporting them both. Whether he liked it or not it was high time she got a job of her own and started paying her way.
Chapter 2:
While her brother slept Brea poured over the local newspaper, determined to find herself a reasonable job. Sadly, there wasn’t much work going. Most of the jobs posted required some sort of relevant experience which Brea didn’t have. Pretty much the only thing she really excelled at was her art. Beyond that she could cook and clean but no one was hiring a surrogate sister or mother.
Leaning back in her chair Brea sighed, feeling deflated. She glanced sadly towards the bedroom door beyond which Sylar was sleeping soundly. A part of Brea knew that there was more to his damaged eye than he was letting on. There had to be. He was always getting strange and mysterious wounds and she kept turning a blind eye to them.
“What do you do at night?” she wondered aloud, still staring at the door. She feared that perhaps Sylar was getting involved in the seedy underbelly which had slowly rotted their once wholesome town. Back when their parents were alive it was the kind of place where you could leave your front door unlocked at night and let your kids play out on the front porch. But all that had changed during the last decade. Now if you walked home alone at night you kept your steps fast and your head low. Their town was no longer safe and was Sylar possibly contributing to that?
No. Brea shook her head. She wouldn’t believe that Sylar was doing anything dishonorable. That wasn’t like him. He was the protective older brother who had been there for her, who had helped raise her. He could never hurt someone.
With a sigh Brea looked back down at the paper. It was slim pickings for jobs. There wasn’t even any waitressing work on offer. Groaning Brea scrunched up the page and pushed it aside. It was useless. As bummed out as she was, she went back outside to work on some more sketches beneath the willow tree and clear her mind.
When Brea drew the world around her, she disappeared and she became lost in her art. The process consumed her. She’d learned early on that drawing was a great way to get away from all the pain and sadness which haunted her day to day life. With a pencil in her hand she could get away, she could draw beautiful castles or strong, powerful animals capable of carrying her off on their backs. And her pictures were good, she was sure of that. Whenever she plucked up the courage to show them to Sylar he was always full of praise.
“Wow, Brea, those are amazing,” he’d gush proudly. “Clearly you got all the talent in the family.”
Brea would blush modestly, secretly warmed by his words. If Sylar liked her pictures then they must be good. Yet no one else had ever seen them. Had her parents still been around she’d have showed them but beyond them, Harlow was cut off from most people. There was nothing like a tragedy to show you who your real friends were. Those that did stick around had recently left town for college, leaving Brea well and truly isolated with only Sylar for company.
She realized that she wanted a job for more than just financial reasons. She longed for companionship. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone new. In her town people only ever left, no one new ever showed up.
Placing down her artist’s pad Brea saw that the sun had started to dip in the sky. She wasn’t sure of the exact time but she sensed that it was late afternoon. Sylar would be waking up soon and her plan had been to ambush him
“Promise me you’ll behave while I rest?”
“I promise,” Brea told him sweetly. “And I’ll even stick a pizza in the oven for when you wake up.”
“Thanks, sis,” Sylar sauntered back towards the house, his shoulders slumped. Brea watched him with a heavy heart. She knew that she couldn’t let him keeping supporting them both. Whether he liked it or not it was high time she got a job of her own and started paying her way.
Chapter 2:
While her brother slept Brea poured over the local newspaper, determined to find herself a reasonable job. Sadly, there wasn’t much work going. Most of the jobs posted required some sort of relevant experience which Brea didn’t have. Pretty much the only thing she really excelled at was her art. Beyond that she could cook and clean but no one was hiring a surrogate sister or mother.
Leaning back in her chair Brea sighed, feeling deflated. She glanced sadly towards the bedroom door beyond which Sylar was sleeping soundly. A part of Brea knew that there was more to his damaged eye than he was letting on. There had to be. He was always getting strange and mysterious wounds and she kept turning a blind eye to them.
“What do you do at night?” she wondered aloud, still staring at the door. She feared that perhaps Sylar was getting involved in the seedy underbelly which had slowly rotted their once wholesome town. Back when their parents were alive it was the kind of place where you could leave your front door unlocked at night and let your kids play out on the front porch. But all that had changed during the last decade. Now if you walked home alone at night you kept your steps fast and your head low. Their town was no longer safe and was Sylar possibly contributing to that?
No. Brea shook her head. She wouldn’t believe that Sylar was doing anything dishonorable. That wasn’t like him. He was the protective older brother who had been there for her, who had helped raise her. He could never hurt someone.
With a sigh Brea looked back down at the paper. It was slim pickings for jobs. There wasn’t even any waitressing work on offer. Groaning Brea scrunched up the page and pushed it aside. It was useless. As bummed out as she was, she went back outside to work on some more sketches beneath the willow tree and clear her mind.
When Brea drew the world around her, she disappeared and she became lost in her art. The process consumed her. She’d learned early on that drawing was a great way to get away from all the pain and sadness which haunted her day to day life. With a pencil in her hand she could get away, she could draw beautiful castles or strong, powerful animals capable of carrying her off on their backs. And her pictures were good, she was sure of that. Whenever she plucked up the courage to show them to Sylar he was always full of praise.
“Wow, Brea, those are amazing,” he’d gush proudly. “Clearly you got all the talent in the family.”
Brea would blush modestly, secretly warmed by his words. If Sylar liked her pictures then they must be good. Yet no one else had ever seen them. Had her parents still been around she’d have showed them but beyond them, Harlow was cut off from most people. There was nothing like a tragedy to show you who your real friends were. Those that did stick around had recently left town for college, leaving Brea well and truly isolated with only Sylar for company.
She realized that she wanted a job for more than just financial reasons. She longed for companionship. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d met someone new. In her town people only ever left, no one new ever showed up.
Placing down her artist’s pad Brea saw that the sun had started to dip in the sky. She wasn’t sure of the exact time but she sensed that it was late afternoon. Sylar would be waking up soon and her plan had been to ambush him
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