The Christian Gospels are filled with the stories of a man named Jesus of
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Matt, Daphne, Molly, and Daniella
The Parkmans’ Apartment
2011
She was standing there a little shakily, but smiling. “I wasn’t fast enough.” And then she was on the ground just outside the apartment.
Matt held her, feeling the deep burns on her back. “No,” he whispered.
Molly ran over and set Daniella down, who began crying immediately. “Mom…?”
“Watch your sister,” Matt commanded as he rushed back into the apartment. While Molly tried in earnest to calm her baby sister, Matt raised a ruckus from the back from the back of the apartment.
Bouncing the inconsolable Daniella on her leg, Molly pleaded with tearing eyes to the still form of her adoptive mother. “Mom, y-you gotta come back. You can’t be dead,” she gasped, searching for her mother’s soul and finding the connection getting weaker. “Look, I promise I’ll stop calling you Daphne when I’m mad at you or world or whatever. Or, c’mon, I’ll, uh, I’ll call you whatever you want, Mom.” She took a moment to sniffle, but continued, “I know you feel weird when I call you ‘Mom’ even though you say you don’t. And I’ll stop yelling that you’re not my real mom, I swear. Shh, Daniella, please. I’ll be a good daughter. I’ll be a good daughter.” Her voice cracked and ceased. Daniella bawled louder.
Matt finally scrambled back to his wife’s body. “Molly, get back. Be careful with your sister!” he bellowed. Molly kissed Daniella on the head and continued to bounce her to no avail. Tears streamed down Molly’s face. Daniella screeched in her sister’s arms, demanding to be returned to her Mommy.
Matt felt under his wife’s breast. “No heartbeat,” he said to himself, “Okay, then…” He arranged his wife’s body so that she was lying on her damaged back and he pushed up on her chin, ignoring the cold, lifeless eyes looking distantly into space. Holding his finger against the stagnant jugular vein, he pulled a syringe filled with red liquid out of his pocket. He carefully inserted the needle into the vein and pushed hard on the plunger.
After a second her eyelids blinked. Once. “Did she blink?” Matt asked to himself, to Molly, to the universe, to God.
“She blinked,” Molly replied immediately.
Her left finger twitched. Molly pointed that out. She moved Daniella, still crying, to the other hip and tried rubbing her back.
Matt dared smile and held his wife. Her eyes closed. She didn’t move. Matt’s smile disappeared and he laid her back down.
“She’s breathing!” Molly cried.
Matt felt for his wife’s heartbeat again: faint but regular. Her chest rose, paused for an excruciatingly long time, and fell.
“Is she alive?” The words barely escaped Molly’s lips.
“Can you sense her?” Matt asked.
Molly nodded and luckily kept nodding until Matt turned his head.
“Is she asleep?” Molly asked, feeling stupid.
“She’s… she might be in a coma.”
“Was the blood bad?”
“It shouldn’t have been. It’s from your mom’s boss and she’s a natural. It was refrigerated and less than six months old. I don’t get it. Maybe we weren’t fast enough.”
He cradles his wife’s neck and picked her up. Below her ruined jacket, he saw his wife’s smooth, flawless back.
“I don’t get it…” he whispered. Molly swung around Daniella, who ceased crying but continued grimacing in fear.
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Angela and Maury
Carlos Mendez’s Apartment
1989
The first thing Carlos did on opening the door was grab Maury in a tight hug.
“Maury Parkman, what are you doing here?”
“Angela and I thought we owed you a visit.”
Carlos’s smile was wide. “Just tell me it’s not business.”
Angela answered, “No, it’s more of a personal visit.”
Carlos kissed her hand. “Well, that’s my favorite type. Welcome to my humble abode, Mrs. Petrelli.” He turned his head and called down the hall, “Issac, son, come say hello to some of my oldest friends!”
Carlos’s 11-year-old son walked in shyly. He looked up at the familiar adults. “Hello, Mrs. Petrelli, Mr. Parkman. How are you?” he asked dutifully. They courteously replied that they were fine. He asked about their sons. He’d met them at a get-together. Both had college-age sons and Mrs. Petrelli also had a son his age.
With a sidelong look at Maury, Angela knelt down, “So, Isaac, tell me, do you still like to draw?”
He just nodded and replied dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”
Carlos jumped in with paternal pride. “My boy’s an incredible sketcher. Go get some of your work.”
“Dad,” he complained.
“Tell me, young man,” Angela spoke, “do you take commissions?”
“You mean like… you pay me to draw you something?”
“Exactly. Whatever you feel inspired to draw.”
“How much?” Isaac asked, excitedly.
“Isaac,” Carlos chastised.
“I’m sorry,” his son mumbled.
“Not at all. If you’re going to be an artist, you’ve got to learn to take pride in your work. I’m going to visit with your father. Come to me when you’re finished.”
Isaac scampered off to his room.
Inside Angela’s head, she hear Maury’s voice: I implanted the image.
“Angela, you didn’t have to do that,” Carlos mentioned.
“Carlos, some day your son is going to be a very talented artist. I wanted to get him started out right.”
“I hope you’re not manipulating my son because of one of your dreams.”
“One does not have to be precognitive to see raw talent.”
“I wish you wouldn’t inject business into personal relationships.”
“I’m married to a lawyer.”
“One of these days that excuse is not going to cut it, Angie. So, I hear Nathan is considering following in his father’s footsteps…”Chapter 3
Director's Commentary: So, the previous chapter got a lot higher viewership than what was expected, so I've been offered the possibility of doing not only three but five chapters. It depends on viewership, so tell your friends.
Written and Directed by Christopher VanDrey
Greg Grunberg ... Matt Parkman
Christine Rose ... Angela Parkman
Bela Grant ... Daphne Millbrook-Parkman
Adair Tishler ... Molly Walker
Miguel Sandoval ... Carlos Mendez
Justin T. Long ... Justin T. Long
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