From Part 6:Lois placed her chopsticks right next to the container. “That was great,” she said, satisfied. “Where did you get it?”
Clark smiled noncommittally and watched her as she searched the remaining boxes for something. A frown appeared on her face, as she obviously came up empty.
“No fortune cookie?” she asked disappointedly.
“Well, the place is pretty traditional,” Clark replied amused. “You don’t get fortune cookies in China.”
She flashed him a glance. Clark felt a rush of panic seize him as he wondered if he had betrayed his secret. But then she relaxed.
“You’re a strange one, Clark Kent,” Lois announced.
“Am I?” he grinned and leaned back in his chair.
“Yeah, but it makes you kind of interesting,” she admitted. Then she straightened and got up. “Come on, we’ll go see Dr. Platt. Perhaps he can help us decipher this stuff.”
Hurt Before
Part 7:It was early morning, when Clark closed the door to his hotel room behind him and shuffled towards his bed. Dawn would break soon, for everyone except Dr. Samuel Platt. They had found the scientist dead, slumped in a chair with his feet in a basin of water. Wires buzzing with electricity had been wrapped all around him. The memory still haunted Clark. The police suspected suicide. Clark did not believe it, not for one minute. Of course, the investigation was still pending, but since there had been nothing to suggest a fight or even an intruder, Clark had little doubt that the final report would read suicide.
He let out a soft curse, throwing his jacket onto the bed. “I should have known it,” he whispered for the umpteenth time, angry with himself. “I should have saved him.” Clark knew that hindsight was a wonderful thing, but that did not help him in the least. Lois had tried to soothe him, when they had still been at Platt’s apartment.
<But she doesn’t know Luthor or what he is capable of.> Clark reminded himself. <You on the other hand did. And still you stood by and watched him arrange Dr. Platt’s death.>
But did he really
know anything? After all, it was just an unshakable gut feeling, that Luthor was involved in Lana’s death. Perhaps it had really been an accident, just as Luthor claimed. Perhaps Clark was just paranoid concerning the billionaire. Perhaps it was all just a figment of his tormented mind. He had never been able to prove anything. Could the man really be that great at hiding his tracks?
The loud wail of sirens disrupted the air. The sudden onslaught caught Clark by surprise. He winced and covered his ears in a knee-jerk reaction. It took him a moment to bring his hearing back under control, but he did not manage to block out the sound completely. Desperate calls for help penetrated his defenses. Clark shut his eyes, willing them to go away. They hardly ever did. He wanted to help, but knew that it was impossible. There was just no way he could help with a car pile-up without being noticed.
The clock on the wall showed half past five. Roughly three hours left to sleep. Clark was bone-tired, but sleep had continued to elude him ever since he had set foot in Metropolis. He had not had more than a couple of hours rest at a stretch in the past two weeks. Today would not be any different. He was running on empty. Clark was just too tense, too angry and way too frustrated to find rest, though. For a whole half a minute, Clark paced through his hotel room restlessly. Realizing, that it was really no use staying there, he took his keys and left the hotel in search of a deserted alley. Then he soared into the sky.
Clark was not sure what he hoped to find outside. An outlet, perhaps, a way to vent his frustrations, because he felt that he was going to explode if he did not. He was the most powerful being on this planet, and yet he was completely helpless to do anything. Luthor walked free, people were dying out there and he was condemned to hear them, watch them – and feel guilty.
Luthor – he could pay him a visit and see what the man was up to. Only seconds later, Clark hovered over the penthouse at the top of LexTower. Using his x-ray vision, he discovered that Luthor was sleeping peacefully in his bed. A smug smile played on his lips, even in his slumber. Clark felt his anger rise, but he took a deep breath, fighting the dangerous emotions. His gaze wandered on, finding Luthor’s study. His desk was clear, save for a few expensive pens. A safe was set into the wall, but the lead in its walls blocked Clark’s view.
Clark let out a frustrated growl. But what had he expected to find at this ungodly hour? Did he really still hope that Luthor would become careless all of a sudden? This was not the first time he had spied on him. He had x-rayied the place, virtually turning it upside down. It had been for naught.
With the vague prospect of flying to the arctic to cry out his pain, Clark sped up. It was strangely comforting, so he pushed at his limits, trying to go beyond. He felt the force of the wind in his face and stemmed against it, going even faster. The wind roared in his ears and tugged at his clothes. But still, he went faster, faster than he ever had. The world around him was nothing but darkness with an occasional blur of lights underneath him. He concentrated hard on his surroundings, careful to stay out of the path of planes. There was no room for dark thoughts, no room for anger. Pushing even further, the brush of air almost hurt in his face until he felt he was one with the air around him. Clark’s shirt was torn to shreds. And eventually, he felt himself relax.
* * *
Head lights appeared in the rearview mirror, blinding Clark. He glanced sideways, seeing a sports car pass at a crazy speed. Another one followed, outrunning the first one as soon as it changed the lane. Two more cars passed by, chasing the others. The gush of wind that followed in their wake pulled at the old pick-up Clark was driving. Clark gripped the steering wheel tighter, even though the effect was too slight to be harmful, and let out a breath.
“Did you just see that?” Clark asked, taken aback. The pick-up slowed down as Clark stared after the shrinking red lights, dumbfounded.
“Yeah,” Lana replied, sounding a lot more serene than Clark felt. “Looks like they’re having an illegal race.” She chuckled. “Don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to go all caveman on me and chase after them.” Something about her tone unsettled Clark.
He caught her glance, her tight lips. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Clark slowed the pick-up to a halt. “That’s what you want?” he asked, gesturing ahead towards the spot where the lights had vanished into the darkness. “Me driving like crazy to impress you?”
Lana squirmed at his frown. “No, I guess not,” she replied, subdued. “It’s just… I don’t know… Sometimes I wish you were…” Her voice trailed off, as if she was not entirely sure what it actually was that she wanted. “Yesterday, I thought that you were more impressed with Luthor than you were with me.”
Clark sighed inwardly at the course the conversation was taking again. “Lana, I love you, not Luthor,” he stated firmly. “I must admit, it was interesting meeting him. But he isn’t you.” He reached out to brush a strand of her blond her behind her ear and cupped her cheek. “I know that I might have seemed a little withdrawn lately. But that has nothing to do with my feelings for you.” Clark leaned to kiss her, savoring the feel of her silky lips on his.
“Oh, Clark…” Lana murmured, her voice trailing off as she deepened the kiss.
Clark relished the sweet taste of reconciliation, though it did not quite manage to wash away the bitterness of the lie. His behavior towards Lana had everything to do with his feelings for her. He was nervous, scared to death, frankly. Living with his secret had long since become second nature. But he knew he could not keep Lana in the dark if he wanted a deeper relationship, and the longer he put off telling her, the more their relationship seemed to deteriorate.
Clark backed off, breaking the contact. He opened his lips wondering if now might be the time he had been waiting for. His heart thumbed loud and fast in his ears, drowning out every other sound. The words were stuck at the back of his throat, his mind raced as he desperately tried to merge them to sentences. He bit his lips, letting out a small sigh as he realized that he was once again going to chicken out.
“I promise you, we’ll talk about this some more,” he said instead. “Let’s just get back to Smallville first.” Relief flooded through Clark as he saw Lana nod. There was a sparkle in her eyes that made him a bit uneasy, though. He shifted the gear to drive and maneuvered the car back onto the road.
The night was pitch black by now, faintly illuminated by the head-lights of the old pick-up truck. Theirs seemed to be the only car for miles. Lana and Clark slipped back into silence that this time was a lot more comfortable than the previous one. Yards turned into a mile as the needle of the speedometer slowly climbed up again.
They had not been driving for long, when small red lights appeared on the horizon, coming closer by the minute. Involuntarily, Clark checked his own speed and frowned as he realized that he had barely reached 50 mph. The car in front of them had to be going awfully slow. It took no more than another two minutes for him to realize, that the other car was not moving at all. As they got closer, Clark noticed two things – first of all, the car was one of the sports cars that had passed by earlier and secondly, the driver’s doors stood ajar.
“What’s going on there?” Clark muttered, slowing down the pick-up.
His gut tightened into a knot as he realized that the window of the driver’s door was broken. A faint moan and the quick flutter of a heart-beat indicated that whoever was inside the sports car was in trouble.
Clark pulled to a halt next to the car, quickly getting out of his pick-up. He went around his truck and saw a man sitting slumped in his seat. His head was resting on the wheel. The lights of the pick-up were dim, but there was no mistaking the dark mass that covered the side of the driver’s face. More blood pooled on the driver’s left hand and dripped onto the street.
“Oh, my God,” Lana breathed, who had opened the passenger door.
“He’s breathing,” Clark stated and glanced back at Lana, who was standing behind him. “Go, get help, Lana. There was a phone about four miles back. You need to call the emergency services,” he urged. “I try to stem the bleeding.”
“And what if whoever did this comes back?” Lana whispered, terrified.
“Why would they?” Clark asked. “Go! Take the pick-up.”
For a moment, she stood beside Clark, frozen to the spot. He was about to tell her once more that she needed to be going, when suddenly she turned on her heels and stumbled towards the pick-up. A look of determination was on her face, as she sat down behind the wheel and set the truck in motion. She turned the truck around and only moments later the back lights of the car were fading into the now all-encompassing darkness.
With the pick-up gone, Clark could hardly see a thing. He might be able to see through walls, but with no light, he was just as helpless as about anyone else. Working his jaw in annoyance, Clark wished he had thought of that before he had send Lana off. But it was too late for that now, he decided as he turned his attention to the stranger. Cursing himself, Clark suddenly realized that he had also forgotten to get his first-aid kit.
<Some help you are,> he thought angrily.
Only gradually his eyes adjusted to what little light the stars and a half moon casted on the road. Carefully, he sat the man straighter, eliciting a small moan that escaped his lips. Clark’s arm brushed against something that gave off a soft rattle.
<Keys!> A rush of relief filled Clark and he fumbled for the key that thankfully was still stuck in the ignition. Turning it, he was soon able to switch on the interior lighting.
Clark stifled a yelp as he recognized the stranger as Lex Luthor. He was unconscious. His white business shirt was soaked with blood, his complexion was awfully pale. The sound of his heart-beat was faint and racing like mad. The gush on Luthor’s forehead looked worse than it probably was, it certainly did not explain his condition.
Peeling the soaked shirt off, Clark saw a nasty bullet wound. Blood was oozing from Luthor’s shoulder, trailing down to redden yet more of the shirt. Not much longer and he was going to bleed to death. Concentrating hard, Clark focused his heat vision on the wound, cauterizing it with several quick blasts. A faint moan accompanied every one of them.
* * *
Clark woke to the sound of an explosion. Disoriented, he blinked and realized that he was sitting on the floor, leaning against his bed. Vaguely, he remembered returning to his hotel room. He must have passed out before he had made it into the bed. Weariness still encompassed his body, as the explosion turned out to be someone knocking at his door, fiercely.
“Clark!” Lois yelled through the door and knocked again. “Clark, are you there? I said nine! I thought you’d be ready!”
Slowly, Clark dragged himself up, his muscles protesting against the effort. So there was a limit to his powers, Clark thought idly, as he stood. His glasses clattered on the floor. They had to have slipped from his nose while he had been sleeping. It could not have been more than an hour, but Clark felt strangely at ease.
“Clark!” Lois shouted again, impatiently.
“Coming,” Clark said and picked up his glasses, putting them back on as he made his way to the door. “’morning, Lois,” he greeted her as he opened the door.
Her fist was raised to knock once again. She stared at him, frozen to the spot, and her jaw dropped. “I… you… you’re naked.” She ground out, continuing to stare at him.
Feeling his cheeks flush with embarrassment, Clark looked down at himself. To his relief, he saw that naked was not an entirely accurate description. At least he was wearing his jeans. But he definitely lacked a shirt.
<How on earth?> Clark wondered, but then he suddenly remembered. The flight. <In both senses of the word,> he mentally added and closed his eyes.
“I… I’m… sorry,” he stuttered awkwardly and stepped aside. “Come on in. I… I’ll go get a shirt.”
“Rough night?” Lois asked sympathetically as she walked past him, her eyes never quite leaving Clark’s chest.
“Huh?” Clark replied confused, his mind still fuzzy from lack of sleep.
“You look pretty much out of it,” she stated and raised a concerned brow. “You’re not still beating yourself up about Platt’s death, are you?” Something about his expression must have told Lois that she had hit the bull’s eye. She approached Clark, now oblivious to his lack of attire and laid a comforting hand on his arm. “Clark it wasn’t your fault. We couldn’t possibly have known.”
“Well, I should have,” Clark said stubbornly and withdrew his arm. “Whoever is responsible for the explosion of the Messenger wasn’t above killing Commander Laderman and his crew. It wasn’t such a stretch to think that Platt could have been in danger, too.”
Clark grabbed a sweater from his closet and turned his back on Lois. He fled to his bathroom, trying to put some distance between Lois and himself. He could not face her right now. It was not because he somehow held Lois accountable for what had happened. After all, she really had no way of knowing what would happen. But Clark could hardly stand to be in the same room with himself, let alone anyone else. Her sympathy only made things worse.
“We still have no proof that the Messenger was actually sabotaged,” he heard Lois say. She had followed him and waited in front of the closed door. “I don’t think we could have convinced the police to put him under protection.” Lois added, while Clark performed a quick sponge bath. “You have to admit that he seemed a little crazy.” Finally, he donned the faded sweater of MidWestern U. “Don’t blame yourself, Clark. You didn’t build that electric chair.”
Lois fell silent. All Clark could hear now was the steady rhythm of her breath and heartbeat. He leaned onto the basin, clenching his hands into tight fists, and did not know what to do. Clark’s first impulse was to tell her that she had no idea what she was talking about and to throw her out of his room. His life was complicated enough as it was, without her stirring up some unwanted feelings. But the truth of her words sank in, easing the pain. Lois had a point; he could not possibly have known what was going to happen to Platt.
Slowly, Clark unclenched his fists and straightened. He walked back into his bedroom. Lois stood there, waiting for him. Clark studied her face. Her warm brown eyes rested on him without a hint of reproach.
“So what do we do, now?” Clark asked, defeated. “We’re still not any closer to the bottom of this.
“I phoned Jimmy this morning and told him to take Platt’s report over to S.T.A.R. Labs. Perhaps one of their scientists can find out what Platt had discovered.” Lois replied confidently. “And I’m going to call Inspector Henderson about the coroner’s report.”
Clark nodded. “All right, let’s go, then.”
“Uh, Clark?”
“Yeah?”
“You still look like something the cat dragged in and roughed up pretty badly,” Lois said with a nod to his appearance. “And it certainly wouldn’t hurt if you shaved and put on something more appropriate for work.”
“Oh.” Clark’s eyes widened as he noticed the faded sweater. His hand shot up to his cheek to discover slightly more than a five o’clock shadow. “I’m sorry, Lois. Give me ten minutes.”
to be continued...Please
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