Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Wrong Clark (173/???)

Wrong Place, Wrong Time, Wrong Clark TOC can be found Here

Author’s Note: I am posting a WHAM warning due to the repeat of the WHAM scene from Part 172, only this time from Clark's POV.
Where we left off in Part 172…

Clark’s feet ached, from his little toes to his heel as if he had recently crossed hot coals.

Clark’s head burned within from a never-ending repetition of synaptic explosions.

Everything in between felt as if he had been set ablaze, as well, especially his gut, which was why he was lying in a fetal position on the floor, trying desperately not to cry. He didn’t want to give Luthor the satisfaction.

Superman had been flying past when he heard Luthor tell Lois to be quiet, that she was his, and slapped her. That had been when Clark had glanced in through Luthor’s open balcony doors and saw that Luthor had pinned Lois against his desk and was pulling up her skirt.

Just recalling this image felt as if someone had struck Clark’s vulnerable head with a chain saw. The physicality of his pain was sharp and raw.

What happened after that moment wasn’t so clear. Filled with rage, Clark had burst into Luthor’s office and shoved him off Lois. As Clark had turned her over to comfort and apologize to her, that was when his agony had truly begun and his memories blurred. Suddenly, he had known how a poor bird caught in electrical lines felt. Hanging in the center of Lois’s chest was a child’s fist sized chunk of Kryptonite, dangling off a gold chain.

“Is he alive?” he heard Luthor’s voice ask, interrupting his thoughts. “I don’t want him dead, yet.”

Death would be preferable to this, Clark thought.

Another sharp poke stabbed him in the back and Clark couldn’t help but groan from the unfamiliar feeling of pain.

“He’s alive, Lex,” a female voice replied, before she moved to the other side of the hero and pinched his cheek. “He just made a noise.”

The lilting female voice wasn’t Lois’s. Was there another woman in the room?

Part 173

Clark swallowed down his pain and forced his memories back to when he flew past Lex Tower and heard Lois and Luthor arguing, trying to hone in on his observations. Had there been someone else in the room with Luthor and Lois, when he had entered?

Superman had just left the Luthor House for Homeless Children, where he had been battling a blaze since early that morning. He had been in need of sleep when he had flown out at just past dawn and, after dealing with that catastrophe, he was more than exhausted. A part of Clark willed himself to embrace the pain, and thus allow him to sleep and end this suffering.

He never knew how much distress a man could experience behind his belly button alone. When Tempus had exposed him to Kryptonite that first time during the mayoral debate, the concept of intense pain and the knowledge of how it could bend a man to its will were new to Clark. Not to mention the heartburn from swallowing that bomb. Nevertheless, it had been nothing compared to when Trask had rested that green glowing rock on his back. Clark had decided later on that ‘excruciating’ described that experience well. This pain had started somewhere in between the two and grown into something larger and more vicious. Only this time, it felt as if he couldn’t breathe. Not from the Kryptonite, but from the agony of Lois’s betrayal. How could she have…?

Clark pushed past that thought to return to his memories. Upon seeing the Kryptonite necklace, he recalled glancing up into Lois’s face and wondering why. Had she double-crossed him again? Or had Luthor forced the necklace upon her?

Her eyes had appeared strange as she coolly stared back at him. Strange as in off, not right. And it hadn’t been in her expression, but her eyes themselves. He hadn’t been able to concentrate on them for long before doubling over with the burning torture only the combination of Kryptonite and Lois could bring him.

Thinking back on it now, Clark realized that it hadn’t been Lois’s eyes at all. These eyes had been cold and gloating, happy to be causing Superman pain. She had run her gloved fingers down his cheek, as he had stared wordlessly into those eyes. She grabbed hold of his hair and jerked his head back. Then she had pressed her mouth to his, biting his bottom lip, and, less than a moment later, pushed him down to the floor with her knee to his belly… well, under his belly… under his diaphragm, really.

A-ha! At least, now, he understood the agonizing pain to his gut and his blurry vision.

If she had wanted to kill him, why hadn’t Lois done it that day the Daily Planet had been destroyed? Why lead him on, renew his hope, and then kill him like this? There was no sense in adding cruelty to another person’s death.

Clark forced his eyes open a crack to try to focus them on this woman, who both was and wasn’t Lois. She wore brown stylish pumps with buckles, beige stockings, a navy pleated skirt down to her knee, and a white turtleneck cashmere sweater.

Come to think of it, a turtleneck and gloves in mid-June? That didn’t fit into Lois’s normal style. Clark filed away that observation and continued his examination of Lois.

Still laying at the center of his woman’s chest was… Clark closed his eyes to moisten them. Focusing on the rock itself made the throb inside his head triple in intensity. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze had already traveled up to her covered neck.

What didn’t make sense was Lois’s face above this body. It certainly was Lois’s face. Clark would know it anywhere. He had memorized it, although, the fine details were hard to scrutinize without his enhanced vision. He had carefully catalogued every line, curve, and nuance. He knew the color of her skin in the deep of winter and how it flushed with passion. He knew her favorite blush, eyeliner, and lipstick color. If he had been able to hear properly, he would already have been able to identify the woman as Lois from her heartbeat.

Yet…

Even in the low heels and this awkward viewpoint from the floor, this woman seemed tall for Lois Lane.

Lois, yet not Lois, ran her fingers through her slightly longer than jaw length bob.

Luthor grabbed the back of her head and brought her lips to his in a celebratory kiss.

Clark found he was unable to look away, his body rigid with more pain than he had ever experienced as his heart, literally, skipped a beat. He wondered why it hadn’t stopped completely. Maybe it was waiting for him to make his final analysis on this Lois.

“Not like this, Lex,” she murmured, twisting her face from Luthor’s. “I need to feel you. Let me get more comfortable.” Again, Lois’s voice sounded lilting, hauntingly familiar, yet not right. Was this how Lois spoke to Luthor? She almost seemed like a different person.

Clark’s gaze searched for something, anything, which would prove to him that this Lois wasn’t really Lois.

Luthor glanced down at Superman, lying prone at his feet. “I’m sure our guest would rather see me take you like this, Lois.”

No. Not really. Not at all, actually. Never. Not in a thousand trillion years, ever.

Clark summoned the energy to move or respond, but couldn’t find it, which was probably for the best. He didn’t want to give the man the satisfaction of being proved right.

She turned to look at Superman, too. “He’s passed out. He’s not going to see anything,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face until it fell off the back of her head and down to the floor.

How was that possible? Clark must have been dreaming.

“You shouldn’t have hit him so hard with the hilt of your sword, Lex,” strangely bald, yet not bald, Lois said.

“He’s invulnerable,” Luthor replied with a shrug. “I didn’t hurt him.”

“It appears that’s not true, anymore,” she said, pulling her face forward from the back of her head. She peeled her skin away from her face and let it drop to the floor next to her hair.

Delusional, not dreaming, Clark decided. The pain of the Kryptonite and that blow to the back of his head must be making him see things that could not happen. Either that, or Lois was more of an alien than he was.

One last glance through his cracked eyes and he saw that it was Mrs. Cox, not Lois, standing there next to his nemesis.

He should have known. Lois wouldn’t betray him.

Lois loves me.

Clark wrapped this thought around his heart and fell into the fitful blackness of unconsciousness, unable and unwilling to watch any longer.

***

Lois decided that as undercover assignments went, this one sucked the big one.

Oh, sure. She could hear the pro argument: eating good food, hanging out with high society people, entrée into the choicest events, dressing up to the nines, and being spoiled rotten at the swankiest spa in Metropolis.

The down sides more than wiped away any of the good: twenty-four hour surveillance, complete lack of privacy, no control, no freedom, being treated as a child, her opinions consistently discounted, unable to do and say as she pleased, and finally being forced to spend time with Luthor instead of Clark. Hurting Clark, repetitively, was the worst though. She knew how sensitive Clark was, no matter how much his manly ego tried to deny it. He might be the strongest man in her galaxy and almost as brave as she was, but he wore his heart on his sleeve.

Come on, the guy had wept on their first date.

She knew he internalized every death that he could not prevent and couldn’t hide it from his face when he took her words in the wrong way. That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It let her know where she stood with him, because the other thing he had difficulty hiding was how much he admired and loved her. It helped her understand the man, who was now and would forevermore be Clark Kent. She might have needed him to recharge her batteries whenever they met on the sly, and how could she not feel recharged after one of his solar flare smiles, but she knew she was refilling his love tank as well.

She hated having to speak and spend time with Luthor, let alone touch and… ugh, she shivered in disgust… feign attraction and intimacy with the man, but it must have been just as hard for Clark to see and hear her acting that way. She felt as if she needed a full body chemical peel to cleanse herself of her faux fiancé.

Perhaps she should ask the spa if they would give her one.

The woman who had greeted Lois at the door of The Spa had been full of so much hot air, Lois had wanted to prick her with a straight pin. ‘Bubbles’ accent had been as fake as her bra size. Lois had felt intimidated rather than pampered, when Bubbles had taken her into a bordello type room and told her to strip. Then ‘Bubbles’ told her that she could either wrap herself in the velour robe or lie down naked on the table, under a towel. Only she said “nude” as if Lois was a model for some lecherous artist. This wasn’t Lois’s idea of relaxation. In fact, it made her even more tense.

“Dylan will be here in a few minutes,” ‘Bubbles’ informed her before leaving Lois in this… this… love shack of a room.

Instrumental gypsy music, flowers, and candles invaded her senses forming a wall between Lois and tranquility.

Were they nuts?

It made her uncomfortable when any man, save Clark, touched her. Why in the world would Lex think she’d want some strange guy to rub her naked body? Clark on the other hand…

Why in the hell had she agreed to this ludicrous torture in the first place? Her idea of a relaxing day was chasing down a hot lead, writing up the story, and then spending the evening with Clark discussing their next story. This spa had none of that.

The door glided open so softly, Lois almost wished it had creaked to better fit the atmosphere of this room. As it was, she had refused to lie in wait for Dylan, and was about to tell this male gigolo ‘thanks, but no!’ when a perfectly ordinary middle-aged woman in a white nurses uniform entered.

“I’m Dylan,” she announced. “You must be Lois. Would you prefer flower infused lotion or oil today?”

Of course, Lex wouldn’t have hired a man to touch her body before he did.

“Can I get a chemical peel?” The words ran out of her mouth before Lois could stop them. Her eyes widened and felt her cheeks redden in a blush. “You know out with the old, in with the new.” God, she was rambling. She clamped her jaws together.

Dylan raised an eyebrow, studying Lois for a few seconds before smiling softly. “I wouldn’t recommend it, especially for one with skin as young and flawless as yours,” she said, moving to a chest to remove a clear bottle of liquid and a white sheet. “Also, since it peels away the outer layers of your skin, it can take up to ten days to recover from the procedure and have your skin back to one hundred percent. Therefore, we don’t recommend it for anyone under stress or about to be married.”

“Oh,” Lois murmured.

Wait. They really used chemicals to remove the outer layers of someone’s skin? It wasn’t a metaphor or a figurative ‘peel’, but a literal one? People paid money to have this procedure done to them? Were they nuts? Well, so much for that idea.

“So,” Dylan said, placing the bottle of clear liquid on a silver tray on top of the chest with a drinking glass, straw, and wedge of lemon. “Would you prefer flower infused lotion or oil today?”

“Lotion,” Lois squeaked, her embarrassment far from gone. She held her robe tightly closed in front of her.

The masseuse smiled gently. “Don’t worry. I’ll only massage your back, legs, arms, and face, if you want it. I won’t touch you anywhere your bikini would.” She gestured to a door on the far side of the room. “There’s a restroom in there, if you need to use the facilities beforehand.” She set the folded sheet next to Lois on the table.

It felt heated and cozy, but that didn’t mean that Lois felt any more desire to lie naked on this table.

Dylan gestured to the silver platter. “Also, you need to drink the entire bottle of water afterwards, because you can get dehydrated and nauseous. You wouldn’t want that before your happy day.”

“No, no, I wouldn’t,” Lois mumbled.

The day she could finally be with Clark and away from Luthor. Yes, that would be a happy day, indeed.

“Rose scent, okay?” Dylan asked, opening another cupboard with bottles upon bottles of lotions and oils.

Lois stiffened as an image of Lex throwing her a rose on stage at the Metro Club crossed her mind. “Not rose,” she growled. It would be perfect, though. A rose for this bought and sold woman he was marrying. Lex would love it. As she didn’t want that scent anywhere near her, she suggested instead, “Gardenia?”

Dylan smiled and removed a bottle from cupboard. “Do you need more time? Or shall I just step behind this screen…” She pointed at the wooden screen where Lois had removed her clothes and put on the robe. “And wait for you to slip under the sheet?”

“Just a few more minutes,” Lois admitted, crossing her ankles still dangling from this padded table.

Dylan nodded and left the room, telling Lois that she’d return in a couple of minutes.

Lois hopped down from the table and went to the bottle of water, pouring it into the glass and taking a sip. She picked up the bottle of lotion Dylan had chosen and sniffed. It didn’t smell bad; actually, it was quite nice. She took a slow deep breath and exhaled. She could do this.

In less than twelve hours, Lois could finally say good-bye to this persona and turn back into herself, whoever that might be. She didn’t feel like Mad Dog Lane anymore. She certainly didn’t want to be known as Lois Lane, ex-fiancée to Lex Luthor. Moreover, after being tied to a man for as long as she had for this investigation, she knew she wasn’t ready to be Lois Kent… Lois Lane Kent, that was. The problem was that she wasn’t sure who Lois Lane was anymore.

Clark made her feel different than that person she had been before, but not necessarily in a bad way. Inside, she knew she was still this go-getter that she had always been, but now… she had something, someone else to look forward to at the end of a hard day’s work than a microwave dinner and her taped soap opera. Happiness.

Oh, gosh, she was so looking forward to a life with some of that in it. She always enjoyed trying new things.

Of course, being on the run will be much different from being a journalist for the Daily Planet. Her heart sighed for the loss of her beloved newspaper. With Clark, she knew she could do anything. With Clark, she was so much stronger, and less cranky, than she was without him.

“I can do this,” she repeated aloud with a definitive nod. She dropped the robe off her shoulders and threw it on the chair next to the chest, and then slipped face down under the warmed sheet. “But I don’t have to like it.”

***

Clark was startled awake by a splash of water to his face. He pushed himself up to a sitting position from the cool, damp concrete floor and stared into the eyes of his host.

“Good. Still alive,” Luthor said, setting down the empty glass and leaning up against a table covered with oak barrels, bottles of wine, and a smattering of wine glasses for tasting.

A quick glance around was long enough for Clark to note that he was no longer lying in that patch of sunlight in Luthor’s office, but in a cage in some cavernous underground room. The underground was more implied by the lack of windows and sound than general knowledge.

“Feeling better, I hope,” Luthor continued with a smug smile. “Superman.”

Clark stretched out his left arm towards the bars of the cage and felt a dull ache in his shoulder that hadn’t been there while he had laid in Luthor’s office. While he wasn’t back to normal by any means, Clark certainly wasn’t feeling as nauseous as he had been in Mrs. Cox’s presence. On his wrists were strips of red bumps reminiscent of that rash he had on his leg during his Nightfall amnesia. Contact dermatitis caused by direct exposure to Kryptonite to his skin, he guessed, or maybe rope burns, since he was currently vulnerable. He wondered if Luthor had tied his wrists and rolled him off the stairs behind him to this spot. It would also explain the new goose egg on the side of his head that hadn’t been there previously. He didn’t like that he couldn’t remember the trip down here from Luthor’s penthouse office.

“Where am I?” Clark asked, making sure to remember to use his lower octave to speak to his captor.

“My wine cellar, of course,” Luthor announced, spreading out his arms. “Oh, and I wouldn’t go trying to bend any of those bars, if I were you, Superman.” He walked over to an enormous wine barrel and pushed some kind of industrial button. The bars of the cage began to glow green and the pain, which had just started to subside, returned. “I didn’t quite have enough Kryptonite to make you an entire cage of the stuff, so I improvised. Flowing through the bars of your temporary accommodations is a mixture of gas and Kryptonite particles. Breaking the bars will cause the dust to spray over you, contaminating your nice suit and raising the possibility that you may ingest some of that harmful rock. Should you choose to go out that way, it would be a pity, but I would certainly understand.”

Clark had already lowered his arm and was no longer able to hold his body in an upright position. His muscles seemed to be working against him, instead of with him. He winced as he set his face down in the puddle Luthor had made when he had splashed Superman with the water. He was able to push himself towards the dry center of the cage, scraping his cheek in the process. The center of the cage was as far away from those harmful rays as he could get, but there really wasn’t an escape from the pain or Kryptonite.

He focused his gaze back on his captor and tried to make his voice sound even, “What do you want, Luthor?”

“Want? Nothing, of course. I already have everything I could possibly ever want. I have riches and power beyond my wildest boyhood dreams. I have the love of a beautiful, young, passionate woman, who will soon be my wife,” Luthor said. “True, she isn’t as compliant as she will be. Without a hero to rescue her, she’ll soon tire of fighting me all the time.” He brandished Superman with a triumphant smile. “And I have vanquished the one man who could have taken it all away from me. What could I possibly want?”

“You won’t succeed, Luthor!” Superman retorted. The exclamation came through a weak, wavering voice, that even Clark knew sounded like an empty threat. He hoped Perry and Jimbo took the evidence they had to Henderson and the MPD, but without him, he didn’t know if they would… or if it would be enough or do any good.

“I already have, Superman. Nobody knows where you are and, thanks to me, nobody will care until you’re long gone. You needn’t worry about me. I haven’t a care in the world. Speaking of which…” Luthor said, dramatically glancing down to his watch. “I have a date with my future wife!” He returned to the table where he had set the empty glass from the water he had thrown at him. He retrieved two glasses of red wine and held one out to Superman. “Shall we toast to her continued health and happiness?”

Clark glared at him and wished his heat vision still worked. He would have loved to have that glass explode in Luthor’s hand. Since that option was unavailable to him, he pushed through the pain and he thought to himself, Lois loves me. She will never marry that man.

“No? Suit yourself,” Luthor said with a hint of sorrow, setting the wine glasses down after taking a sip from one of them. “Mmm. A good vintage. Well, I’ll throw you a bone, Superman, and I’ll let you see just how blissfully happy she is without you. That is what you wanted, isn’t it? For Lois to be happy with a man who could give her everything she ever wanted? We both know she could never have a real life with you.” He picked up a black rectangular item from the table, a remote of some kind, and pressed a button. From above Luthor’s head lit up a television, Clark hadn’t previously noticed. It showed Lois in her apartment, appearing as if she had just exited the bath. There was no sound.

A knot unfurled in Clark’s chest. Lois was all right. She hadn’t been hurt.

Her almost shoulder length hair was wet and slicked back from a recent combing, and she wore a silky, pink robe loosely fastened over her pearl ivory slip. She went into the kitchen, and returned to the living room with a glass of water and a couple of wafer cookies. She placed her snack on the coffee table and retrieved a romance novel, before sitting down on her settee and curling her legs under her as she read, oblivious to her audience.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?” Luthor said with an exaggerated sigh, interrupting Clark’s thoughts.

Clark gritted his teeth together as he pulled his gaze off Lois to glare upon his captor.

“Well, it’s time for me to go,” Luthor continued, lifting up the television remote and pressing another button. “We have tickets to the theatre.” The organ music from title song for Andrew Lloyd Webber’s ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ thundered into the room. “Have a good night, Superman. See you tomorrow morning… if you’re still alive.” He set down the remote with a chuckle and headed through the room, past a huge barrel for aging wine, and into another room of his cellar with racks of wine. He didn’t return.

While the pain from the cage bars was intense and never ending, it wasn’t as fierce and agonizing as it had been from the large chunk on Mrs. Cox’s necklace. If he died from the Kryptonite, it would be slowly over the course of prolonged exposure. Luthor had said that he hadn’t wanted Superman to die, yet, and Clark wondered for what reason he was being kept alive. Luthor always had a plan, so he needed to think of one, too.

Unfortunately, it was almost impossible to concentrate with all the distractions this room contained.

Clark covered his ears to have some respite from the loud music and focused on Lois, alive and well, sitting on her settee and reading.

Lois loves me, he reminded himself. What will she do when I don’t show tonight?

***

Clark had lost track on how many times the title song from ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ had repeated before the picture on the television changed. Lois glanced up from her novel, set it down on the coffee table, and walked to the door. She peered out the peephole and a smile blossomed across her face. Unfastening her locks, Lois opened the door and let Luthor inside her apartment.

Luthor had changed his clothes and was wearing a different suit. That would explain why it had taken him so long to arrive at his ‘date’s’ apartment. Because she had been absorbed in her novel, Lois still wore that slip with a robe over it, hardly at all prepared for a night at the theatre. Clark cringed, wondering how Luthor would react to Lois’s disobedience.

From behind his back, Luthor produced a rose, a red rose. Even though the video feed was in black and white, Clark knew that the rose was red. Instead of throwing the flower in the face of the man who had bought and sold her, Lois’s eyes had widened with delight and she took a large whiff of the flower, her face broadening into a smile. She wrapped her arms about Luthor’s neck and pressed her lips to his.

Clark’s jaw dropped open. Never had Lois ever kissed Luthor. Never once in all the nights he had watched them. Not trusting Luthor, Clark had hovered nearby almost every time that they had met since the day the Daily Planet exploded. She had certainly never initiated a kiss and had tried to avoid most of the ones he had given her.

Luthor kicked the door closed with his foot, wrapped his arms around Lois, inside her robe, and deepened the kiss.

Clark looked away, bile rising up in his throat, though he didn’t know from what. He could hardly remember the three bites of dinner he had eaten the previous night.

Lois loves me, Clark reminded himself. She's lying to Luthor.

Despite the pain in every one of his nerve endings, Clark tried to calm his racing heart with an agonizingly deep breath. He only succeeded in taking in a little air before he started coughing.

He glanced back up on the screen, hoping to see Lois slapping Luthor across the face. Unfortunately, they had moved to the settee and, with no better term available, were making out like teenagers. Clark watched as Luthor’s hand moved down Lois’s body, touching her in places he had only dreamed about.

Lois placed her hands on Luthor’s chest and Clark stared at her in anticipation. Was she pushing him away at last? Was she calling him a horrible octopus? Would she be waiting in vain for Superman to come to her rescue? Instead, she started to push off Luthor’s double-breasted suit jacket. Luthor stood up, moving away.

Thank God.

Luthor took off his jacket and boring tie and hung them up in the living room closet, before sitting down and gathering Lois back into his arms.

Lois loves me, Clark told himself. She's lying to Luthor, not me.

Luthor moved his hand to her shoulder and moved it down her arm, taking the top of the robe along with it. That was when Clark realized that the slip wasn’t a slip but a negligee, a long nightie. She had been waiting for Luthor. She knew he was coming to take her to the theatre and she had been waiting for him, waiting to seduce him.

Why?

Clark curled into a ball, unable to push back the pain any long. Lois didn’t trust Luthor. The man had framed Jimmy for the bombing of her beloved Daily Planet. He had made her mother disappear. He had ruined her life and spied on her for months. She certainly didn’t love him. She loved Clark. So, why then, was she letting this mad man touch her? Clark forced himself to glance up at the screen. Grimacing, he turned away again. And touch her so intimately? Why?

He turned away from the monitor and rested his head against the frame around the door of the cage. It was the only part of the cage not glowing green. Despite this, it still made his head feel as if it was going to explode, but at least, the pain was more tolerable than how his heart was currently feeling.

“Lois,” he whispered. “Loves. Me.”

Doesn’t she?

When the throbbing in his head from the mixture of loud music and Kryptonite became unbearable, Clark rolled away from the bars. With his knees up at his chest, he curled his head down to meet them and weep. But the tears wouldn’t come. His body felt parched and brittle as if everything that usually kept him alive had been sucked from his veins.

Why, God? Why?

If only he could turn off that infernal song, he could finally think in the…

Clark’s head whipped up.

Why wasn’t Luthor letting him hear what was going on in Lois’s apartment? Apparently, the wine cellar was hooked for sound. It had been blaring “The Phantom of the Opera” song for what felt like hours. If the picture wasn’t a lie, why didn’t Luthor want Superman to hear what was happening? If she screamed, it would be more torturous for him. Luthor had to know that. So, why remove the sound?

It’s a lie.

He took a deep breath and this time his lungs filled fully with air.

It’s another lie.

Clark sat up. Knowing that the video was another lie, he focused his attention on the monitor once more, only this time he was searching for the truth.

That isn’t Lois, he told himself almost with glee. Lois still loves me.

It was another mask. It had to be. The woman looked just like Lois, but it wasn’t her. Lois hated Luthor. She wouldn’t allow him to do those things to her. She leaned her head back, arching her chest against Luthor as he kissed down her neck towards her chest. There was no turtleneck this time. Her neck was bare and without lines. There was no mask.

Clark pressed his lips together with determination. That wasn’t Lois. He knew in his heart that it was another of Luthor’s lies. His eyes darted to the other objects in Lois’s living room. He would prove it wasn’t Lois by proving that it wasn’t Lois’s apartment. It looked just like Lois’s apartment, but it wasn’t it. It couldn’t be. Lois would never let such things happen in her apartment, just as she shouldn’t be a willing participant to Luthor’s ardor.

This woman wasn’t Lois. It looked like Lois, exactly like Lois, but it wasn’t her. He didn’t know how Luthor had made this woman look like Lois, but Clark knew that it wasn’t her. If it was Lois, Luthor would be letting him hear her voice, hear her make love to his nemesis. Since he wasn’t, Clark knew for a fact that the woman couldn’t be Lois. He only needed to visually find something to verify his theory.

By this time, the woman had unbuttoned Luthor’s dress shirt and pulled it from his body, leaving his chest covered with only a tank top undershirt. The strap of the woman’s negligee slipped off her right shoulder and down her bicep, revealing more of her chest. Luthor stood up and, taking her hand in his, led her back towards Lois’s bedroom. Thankfully, the camera remained focused on the living room and there was no sound, emanating from the apartment. Unfortunately, it was one of only a few things for which Clark could be thankful.

“It’s a lie,” Clark repeated, hoping to find the one clue he knew had to be staring him in the face. “Lois loves me.”

Lois loves me.

***End of Part 173***

Part 174

Well, you all knew I'd probably end up going there, so I decided to add my own little twist to Lex's torture chamber. What do you think? Comments?

The Andrew Lloyd Webber musical The Phantom of the Opera is based on a novel by the same name writen by Gaston Leroux. Music by Andrew Lloyd Webber and Charles Hart, with the book written by Richard Stilgoe.

Here’s a link to the song from the movie version: Phantom of the Opera