I'm going on a vacation next week
, so Part 9 will be a bit delayed.
From Part 7:“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.”
Hurt Before
Part 8 Clark tightened his grip on Lana’s hand as he stepped into the hospital room. His breathing hitched and his heart started to pound with nervousness. Lex Luthor sat on his bed, a bandage on his head, another one around his shoulder and a few scrapes on his face were the only reminder of the mugging that had taken place. Luthor’s brown eyes rested on his visitors. A smile spread across his face and all of a sudden Clark became hyper-aware of his thumb digging into the back of Lana’s hand. Though she did not voice any discomfort, he consciously loosened his grip on her and stuffed his hands into his pockets, afraid that he might hurt her.
“My saviors,” Lex greeted them, his smile even broadening. “I’m glad you finally accepted my invitation. I wanted to thank you in person. But please, have a seat.” He gestured towards the two chairs that were standing on either side of the bed.”
Lana readily sat down, but Clark remained standing. He did not trust himself not to break the chair, wrought up as he felt. Forcing a smile on his lips, he stiffly nodded his head in response to the greeting. Clark’s mind raced a mile a minute as he desperately thought of something he could say, something inconspicuous that would not give away what all his thoughts were revolving around.
“How are you, Mr. Luthor?” Clark finally asked.
His words sounded unnaturally slurred to his own ear - an almost unintelligible jumble formed by a tongue that was firmly stuck to the roof of his mouth. Clark shifted from one foot to the other as restlessness coursed through his body with a vengeance. It took all the self-discipline he could muster not to turn on his heels and run for his life. Nervously, Clark watched Luthor’s face, searching for any indication of what was going on behind his dark brown eyes.
<He was unconscious>, Clark reminded himself. <And he survived. He won’t care how exactly you managed to stop the bleeding.>
“Much better …” Luthor said. “… and please, call me Lex. Without the two of you I wouldn’t be here now. The doctor told me it was a miracle that I did not bleed to death out there.” A pregnant pause stretched between them and Lex looked at Clark, intensely before he finally continued. “I owe you my life, Clark – and you too, Lana. I understand it was you who called the emergency services.”
“Yeah, that was me,” Lana whispered flustered and a blush crept across her cheeks. “But anyone would have done that.”
“She’s right, Mr. Luthor,” Clark chimed in.
<And it’s not likely he’s going to wonder why the emergency services found his car four miles closer to the next town than where he was mugged.> Clark mentally added.
“Lex,” Luthor insisted. “And I disagree. Not anyone would have helped a stranger, particularly one who had passed and almost grazed their car at a breakneck -speed. I could only think about the excitement of the race. It’s a pretty stupid pastime.” Luthor blushed. “When someone slipped me an invitation to a race on a lonely road in the backcountry of Kansas, I didn’t expect for a minute that it was all just an elaborate scheme to corner me right in the middle of nowhere and rob me. Thanks to you, I didn’t pay with my life.” * * *
“The Inquisitor, Jimmy? Seriously?” Lois raised her brows, an expression on her face as if she was staring at something particularly ugly. She tapped her foot on the floor, impatiently waiting for Jimmy to lower the offending newspaper.
“The chief told us to get to know our competition,” Jimmy tried to explain himself.
“That rag isn’t competition, unless you compare the amount of fish people wrap in it,” Lois snorted. “Divine intervention? I was saved by an angel?” she read out the headline and rolled her eyes.
Picking up the paper with two fingers, she skimmed through the article. Clark looked over her shoulder and found a photo of the man he had saved the day before. His blood ran cold. He began to read at super-speed and finished the article just in time before Lois tossed it back at Jimmy.
To Clark, her voice sounded strangely hollow as she spoke again. “This is ridiculous. The guy was barely conscious when they dragged him up. He was most likely delusional and some hack mistook his hallucinations for facts. If they even did interview him, that is.” Clark watched her shake her head.
Jimmy’s mouth moved again, but Clark could no longer hear what he was saying. He felt strangely detached. It was happening again. This time the victim of the explosion had seen him. Clark had been so sure that the guy had been unconscious. He might have been delusional, but as soon as people would read about this miraculous rescue, others would tell their stories. The old lady, who had seen him stop the bus. Would she realize what she had witnessed had not been a result of a misperception? Would Luthor buy a newspaper like The Inquisitor and put two and two together?
Clark had often wondered if Luthor suspected something about his powers. Had Lana actually told him or were Luthor’s attack and Lana’s death just coincidences? It killed Clark that he did not know for sure, but he could not very well ask the man. Their unfortunate encounter on Irig’s field should have dispelled all suspicion, but Clark feared that Luthor might still harbor doubts. The mugging incident had been a closer call than Clark had led Lois to believe, a much closer call. So how much exactly did Luthor still remember?
Suddenly, someone waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to Clark!”
It took Clark a moment to find his way back to the real world. He blinked, realizing that the hand belonged to Lois. She sat at the edge of his desk, her brows furrowed with concern. Bending forward, she gently touched his arm, which sent a jolt of electricity through Clark. He flinched.
“Hey, what’s with you?” Lois asked softly. “I thought I had lost you there.”
“I’m sorry. What were you saying?” Clark replied, still trying to get a grip. He flashed Lois an apologetic smile.
“I said that Henderson just called and told me that the preliminary report of Platt’s autopsy reads suicide,” Lois said, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “And Mrs. Platt left a message that she was going to meet us here.”
Clark froze. How could he have missed all that? And what was he doing sitting at his desk? Last thing he knew was that he had been standing in front of Jimmy, staring at the tabloid paper. Clark cursed himself for panicking like that. He had to be more careful, or else he could just tell Lois his secret right there and then. And he had no intention whatsoever on letting anyone in on the secret ever again.
“Oh, okay,” Clark muttered listlessly, having all but forgotten what Lois had talked about earlier.
But she did not seem to mind his lack of eloquence. Instead of asking more questions, she just nodded and made her way back to her own desk. Clark straightened in his chair. He needed to shift his focus back to the tasks at hand - finish the investigation and leave Metropolis. It was simple as that. He had done it before. Perhaps he should just cut his ties right now, get up and leave the Planet, claiming to be sick. Writing his resignation would not take more than a couple of seconds.
Involuntarily, his gaze wandered over to Lois’ desk and to the beautiful woman sitting behind it. Clark’s heart constricted with sorrow. He let out a low sigh. The last two weeks had started out pretty roughly. But no matter what had happened between the two of them, he was beginning to consider Lois as a friend. Never in his life had he felt he belonged somewhere. But the Daily Planet with all its bustling activity and his stubborn, but brilliant partner – they felt like home. Turning his back on all that was going to be much harder on him than it had ever been before. Nothing about this was going to be simple.
Torn, Clark began to sift through his notes, not really paying attention. From the corner of his eyes he saw a woman enter the newsroom. She pushed a wheelchair. The girl sitting in it was about ten years old. Her expression told Clark that she had suffered beyond what a child her age should have to endure, but there was also a hopeful smile lurking there. The woman’s eyes on the other hand were puffy with barely restrained tears. She had a fake smile plastered on, trying to put on a brave face. She was failing miserably. For a woman who had supposedly left her husband, she was a rather pitiful sight. Clark’s heart went out to her.
Momentarily forgetting about his own problems, Clark got up to greet her. Lois was quick to join him.
“Mrs. Platt?” Clark asked and continued at her nod. “I’m Clark Kent. And this is my partner Lois Lane. Thank you for making time.” They shook hands.
“Mrs. Platt, please take a seat.” Lois offered, and snatched a chair from a currently vacant desk.
Shifting from one foot to the other, Mrs. Platt refused the offer with a shake of her head. She looked at the two reporters, as if she was not sure how to proceed.
“This is my daughter, Amy.” Mrs. Platt finally introduced the girl and laid a protective hand on her shoulder. “Amy, this is Lois Lane and Clark Kent.”
“Nice to meet you, Amy,” Lois and Clark said almost in unison.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” Amy replied.
The smile that had been lurking at the corner of her lips broke to the surface. It lit up the newsroom and Clark could not help but smile back at her. But the stark contrast between Amy’s cheerfulness and Mrs. Platt’s flimsy veneer of composure made him uneasy. He caught the woman’s pleading and slightly apologetic glance.
Her lips formed the words. *I haven’t told her yet.* A single tear rolled down her cheeks, which she quickly dabbed with an already soaked handkerchief.
“Amy, would you like a cup of hot chocolate?” Clark offered, beaming at the girl who eagerly nodded at his suggestion. “Do you mind, Mrs. Platt?”
“No, not at all,” she managed a smile, her carefully retained composure back in place. “Be nice to Mr. Kent, Amy.”
“I’m always nice, Mom!” Amy protested with a giggle and grabbing the wheels of her chair, she took the lead.
Clark ignored the irritated glance Lois flashed him and followed Amy, his ears tuned in on the two adults he left behind. Mrs. Platt took an audible breath, as if to brace herself, before she went on. “I had to come here. No one else wanted to believe my husband but you. Not even the police are on our side. You do know about the autopsy report, don’t you?”
“Yes, we do,” Lois said sympathetically. “And…”
Mrs. Platt cut her off. “There is no other explanation. My husband was killed,” she stated distraught. “He had no reason, he loved us.” A sob escaped her throat.
Meanwhile, Clark guided Amy towards the coffee stand and poured her a cup of milk that he put in the microwave. Then he turned around to face Amy.
“I saw your name on the list of passengers on the colonist transport, Amy.” Clark said as he waited for the milk to be heated. “Are you excited?”
“Of course,” she nodded and flashed him another one of her infectious smiles. “Dad told me that up there I don’t need a wheelchair. And perhaps I can even learn to walk.” A shadow briefly crossed her face. “He said that up there I’m weightless and that it would be as if I was flying on my own. What do you think flying on your own is like, Mr. Kent?” she asked curiously.
“I think that would be pretty awesome,” Clark replied warmly, feeling a pang of regret that he could not take this girl flying. It was an experience that he would very much like to share with someone.
The microwave beeped and Clark went on preparing hot chocolate for Amy, while stealing a glance at Lois. She seemed tense as she watched Mrs. Platt. Clark could practically see the wheels turning inside his partner’s mind. Lois’ fingers were fiddling with the lapel of her jacket.
She opened her mouth, but hesitated briefly before she finally said. “When you and Amy left your husband…”
Mrs. Platt shook her head again, this time vigorously. “No. We never left him,” she insisted. “He made us leave. He was sure they'd come after him. He was afraid that Amy and I would get hurt, so he sent us away.” Another tear found its way down her cheek, which she quickly wiped away. “Everything we worked for was for Amy. The space lab Prometheus was the only hope… and now…” Her voice barely above a whisper, she added. “My husband was not insane.”
“Mrs. Platt, do you have any idea who might have killed your husband?” Lois asked.
“All I know is that Samuel knew that Prometheus was being sabotaged and that knowledge got him killed,” Mrs. Platt replied fiercely. “Please. Help me,” she begged. “Don't let his daughter grow up believing her father committed suicide. You have to clear his name.”
As he was finished, Clark handed Amy her cup of hot chocolate and reduced his hearing range to a more human level. The girl seemed lost in thought, staring into thin air.
“Are you okay, Amy?” Clark asked softly.
Startled, she flinched and looked at Clark again. He still held out the steaming cup. Amy’s cheeks blushed and she hurried to take her beverage.
“Thank you,” she muttered, embarrassed.
“Is there something you’re worried about?” Clark prodded gently.
She took a sip of hot chocolate, before she replied. “There were people on TV who said that they were probably going to stop the flight to the Space Station. Do you think that is going to happen?” She sounded scared. The pain in her eyes was evident.
In some way, Clark could relate to the girl. Like him, she just wanted to be like all the other kids. She had built up all her hopes around this space program. It was not fair that she should be deprived of this chance because people like Luthor sought out their own financial benefit. Amy’s father had given his life to help his daughter. He should not have died in vain.
“We will find who is responsible for this, Amy.” Clark promised. “I’ll do everything I can to make sure that you and your Mom will fly to this Space Station.”
“What are you two talking about?” Lois asked curiously, as she approached them.
“Oh, we were just drinking hot chocolate and talking about her plans for next week,” Clark told Lois, winking at Amy.
“Mom, can I go over to Susan’s later?” Amy asked her mother.
“Sure, honey. Let’s get back home. Thank you, Ms. Lane. Mr. Kent,” Mrs. Platt said gently.
“Good bye, Mr. Kent. Good bye, Ms. Lane. And thank you for the hot chocolate,” Amy said, before her mother pushed her through the newsroom and towards the elevators.
“You’re welcome, Amy,” Clark replied.
He watched Mrs. Platt and her daughter until the doors of the elevators closed behind them. He felt like a traitor for having considered, if only for a moment, running off and leaving this investigation to Lois. Of course, he knew it would have been in capable hands, but still… Talking to Amy had fueled his resolve to bring Luthor to justice. He could not continue to run at the first sight of trouble. There was so much more he could have done, had he not always shied away from risking exposure. Amy had already lost her father, he should not add to her pain because he was afraid to do what was right.
“Mrs. Platt wants us to prove that her husband didn’t commit suicide.” Lois summed their conversation up and poured a cup of coffee that she handed Clark. Then she went on to prepare some for herself.
“Yeah, I know…” Clark sighed absent-mindedly and added sugar and cream.
“You know?” Lois looked up, surprised.
Noticing his mistake, Clark hurried to add. “I mean I thought that might be the reason for her visit.”
Lois nodded slowly, obviously accepting his explanation. “I just hope Star Labs will come up with some results. So far, we have no more than a supposed accident and a scientist who seems to have committed suicide. That’s not exactly great story material.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Jimmy just went to fetch the report. What are we going to do until he’s back?”
Clark shrugged his shoulders. Apart from a fierce determination to do something, he had not much to go on. But he could not just sit in the newsroom and wait for a miracle. He had done far too much sitting around lately. Thoughtfully, he raised his own cup of coffee to his lips.
“It’s almost noon, perhaps we could go for an early lunch,” Lois suggested.
to be continued... Feedback Thread
