Story ToCPart 3 Part 4:----------
Michel bolted upright in bed, breathing heavily. He glanced at the clock on his nightstand and winced. It was much too early to get up, but when he tried to close his eyes again, he found he couldn't sleep. His heart was still pounding as the terror that jolted him awake continued to roll through him, and he couldn't stop wondering if Clark was alright.
He glanced over at the phone. Maybe he should try to call him? It seemed silly, Michel thought; after all, it was only a nightmare. Still, the nagging feeling wouldn't go away.
He looked at the clock. Surely, no one would even be up at this hour. Then again, he reminded himself, it was probably only evening in America. He looked at the phone, again.
Maybe he hadn't even gone to bed, yet? Or maybe he had. Depending on the time difference, it could be very late...
Michel lay back down and shut his eyes, again. Sleep still wouldn't come. After a few moments of tossing and turning, he finally sat up and reached for the phone.
**********
Clark stumbled a little as his parents half-led, half-carried him into the house. They helped him into a seat at the kitchen table, and his mother immediately felt his forehead. “Clark, Honey, you're burning up!” she announced. In truth, though, Clark had only felt like he was burning when his father first showed him the rock Wayne Irig had left in his safekeeping—now, he felt colder than he ever had in his life. His mom had just begun searching for the family thermometer when the phone rang.
The three Kents looked at each other, curiously. “Who could that be, at this hour?” his father asked aloud, even as he picked up the phone. Clark couldn't hear who was on the other end of the line, but after a few moments, his father handed him the receiver. “It's for you, Son.”
Clark's hands were shaking, but he managed to take the phone from his dad and bring it to his ear. “Hello?”
“Clark!” answered a familiar voice.
“Michel?!” Clark found himself blinking in confusion. “What—? How did you get this number?” He glanced at the clock and, despite the fuzz in his head, tried to do some mental calculations. “And what time is it, there?” he added, giving up.
“Oh, I just happened to be up,” said Michel, “so I thought I might as well give you a call. I—ah—had to ask the directory service for your number, though,” he admitted. Then, in a bright, cheerful voice, he asked, “So, how are you?”
“Well, actually,” Clark admitted, taking a shaky breath, “not so good, right now.”
Michel's pleasant voice responded, “Right, of course, I thought s—wait, *WHAT*?!” The sudden switch to panic was almost tangible. “Clark, what happened? What's wrong?”
“It's nothing,” Clark hastened to reassure him. “In fact, I'm already starting to feel a little better. It's just that I had an unusual encounter with this strange rock—” As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted them.
“I'm coming over!” Michel shouted.
Clark groaned. “Michel, don't—” he began, but he was already speaking to a dial-tone.
“What was that all about?” his mother asked him.
“That was Michel,” Clark told her as he set the handset down on the table. “He asked how I was doing, so I told him about the rock. Now he says he's coming over.”
“Does he know how to get here?” his father asked.
Just then, the phone rang again.
“I—ah—might need directions,” Michel said sheepishly once Clark had answered.
Clark sighed. “Michel, you don't need to—Hey!” He looked up in surprise as his mother suddenly snatched the phone from his hand.”
“Michel?” his mother said. “Hi, this is Martha Kent—Clark's mom. Yes, it's nice to finally speak to you, too. I'm going to tell you how to find the house. Now, I assume you're coming by air?”
**********
Michel's heart pounded from the moment he launched himself out of his window and into the night. The sky, which had seemed like a vast, unexplored playground when Clark flew by his side, was now an endless black sea ready to swallow him up. The lights below him felt like crowds of staring eyes, until they gave way to a dark emptiness that was somehow even more terrifying.
When he reached North America, it looked even bigger than it had from the plane on that first trip to Metropolis. He passed over the coast and mountain ranges, looking for the flat part that was “right smack in the middle,” as Mrs. Kent had put it. Once he saw a few more of her landmarks, the tension in his shoulders eased. The farm was laid out exactly as she had described and, as promised, the lights in the house were on.
He landed on the porch, then hesitated. Steeling himself, he raised his fist to the door and knocked gently. A kindly-looking woman answered. “Mrs. Kent?” he guessed.
Her mouth dropped open. “You must be Michel,” she said, stepping aside to usher him into the house. “My goodness, you really *do* look just like my son!” After only a moment, though, she cleared the shock from her face and smiled at him. “But please, call me Martha. It's nice to finally meet you; Clark's told us so much about you.”
“It's nice to meet you as well,” he replied, kissing her hand. “I'm afraid Clark hasn't told me much about you, but what he *has* told me has been good things.”
While he spoke, a shockingly pale Clark entered the room, along with an older gentleman. The older man offered his hand and introduced himself as Jonathan Kent. Like his wife, he seemed pleasant, albeit more subdued. He also kept glancing between Michel and Clark.
Once the pleasantries had been exchanged, Michel turned to his double. “So what's this about a strange—?” he began, but was cut off as Miss Lane unexpectedly emerged from another room of the house.
“Look at this!” she declared, waving a piece of paper. “A working list of cleanup sites from the Environmental Protection Agency. Guess what? Smallville's not on it.”
Michel's eyebrows climbed into his hair as he registered her presence and attire—or rather, lack of attire, as she was only dressed in a short nightgown. He quickly turned to Clark. “Is this corn festival still going on?” he whispered, as his mind frantically tried to work out the possibility of bringing Susanne here.
Clark's only response was to bury his face in his palm.
Miss Lane seemed to notice his presence for the first time. “Clark?” she asked, looking between him and Clark in confusion.
Clark coughed and gave her a nervous-looking smile. “Er, Lois, you remember Dr. Michel Renaud, don't you?” he said, gesturing to Michel.
Miss Lane frowned at them both for a moment, then suddenly, she gasped. “I don't believe it!” she exclaimed, her eyes widening.
Clark turned even paler, if it were possible.
She strode across the room to them and, suddenly, thumped her partner on the back. “Good thinking, Clark! We'll call their bluff, or find out what it is they're really looking for!” She frowned. “Are you okay? You look horrible.”
“It's my...allergies,” Clark said, turning to Michel and catching his eye.
“You have allergies?” Michel asked, surprised. He'd never suffered from allergies himself, but then... He saw Clark wince, and realization began to sink in. “Oh. Allergies.”
“You never said you were allergic to anything,” commented Miss Lane.
“They always act up when he's in the country,” Martha chimed in.
“Real bad this time of year,” added Jonathan.
Miss Lane smiled. “I tried to warn him about those amber waves of grain,” she said. She glanced at Michel. “So, do you need any help bringing Dr. Renaud up to speed, or—?”
“—I think we'll be fine,” Clark interrupted. “You go on and...” He gestured to the paper in her hand.
“Well, okay,” she replied, sounding slightly dubious. She looked Michel over again, a light blush coloring her face. “I still can't believe I thought...” she muttered. “Well, never mind.” She started to leave the room, paused, then turned back to the two of them again. “Jimmy was right, though,” she said. “You two do look a lot alike! If I didn't know better, I'd think you were twins.”
**********
Some time after Lois went back up to her room—which had formerly been Clark's—the four of them retreated into the kitchen and now sat around the table, drinking hot chocolate. Michel had looked thoughtful ever since Lois' “twin” comment. Clark had to admit, it was a possibility he himself had considered—along with clones, or a race of virtually-identical people, or just a really, *really* freaky coincidence.
“So,” Michel finally spoke. “You mentioned a rock. What exactly happened?”
Together, Clark and his father told Michel about Wayne's visit, the glowing rock, the EPA's sudden interest in Wayne's property, and Clark's unexpected collapse in the shed. Michel listened to their story in absolute silence.
“Michel,” his mother said when they had finished, “Why did you call when you did?”
Michel fidgeted in his seat. “You'll think it's strange,” he told them.
“We're pretty used to strange,” his father said with a chuckle.
“Well,” Michel admitted, “it was sort of like a nightmare.”
Clark looked at him, curiously. “A nightmare?” he echoed.
“Sort of,” Michel said. He looked up at Clark. “It was as if I heard you scream.”
TBC...-----
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