CHAPTER FOUR
The warmth of S.T.A.R. Labs Guest lounge was much appreciated as the sky darkened by steel gray clouds heaped up disorder. The snowfall increased in density and speed. After making formal introductions – with their real names Henry and Clark sat on leather couches, facing each other over the large glass and wood coffee table, Henry’s volume of Keats sat on its surface. Their beverages had long grown cold and the scones forgotten. They studied each other, curious as to what twists of life had brought them to this point.
Clark cleared his throat and said, “The last time we met was decades ago, in 2020 during the Carbide case. I had been covering the story ever since Leonard Carstairs body had been found in his office. The prime suspect was Michael Farnsworth, the company’s CEO. It was a well known fact that the two men despised each other and had an argument the morning of Carstairs’ death. But there was nothing to place him at the scene of the crime. Lois and I were waiting for the results at your laboratory at New Troy University. It was cold and snowy, just like today. Bill Henderson was under tremendous pressure to get sufficient evidence to present to the Grand Jury.”
“Right. Jo had requested I lend my skills to the MPD or rather their white collar crimes unit. Judge Petrillo was determined the case be airtight the judge wanted Farnsworth behind bars more than we did. They had squared off before and he managed to evade justice because the evidence had been tampered with. I was working around the clock, wishing my former assistant, Lucas was there to help. Lord, I must have written over thirty pages of notes that day.” Henry said in a faraway voice.
“Yeah, you had a large leather bound journal; it was like something from another age. Most people, even at that point, were writing on their tablets and not on paper. I remember commenting on how unique your penmanship was, like calligraphy.” It had been many years, but the memory of seeing the spare, yet fluid design of Henry’s notes written in a distinctive blue ink stayed with him.
Rubbing his chin, the geneticist joined into the spirit of the conversation – like a contest of memories. “Exactly right! Mentioning my handwriting made me think about the discarded gloves we had in the evidence container that had been found at the crime scene. Everyone thought those gloves belonged to the victim ...”
“You tested the DNA sample from the discarded glove, it was assumed to belong to the victim; Leonardo Carstairs yet actually matched Farnsworth, the killer!”
Henry shrugged as if solving a murder was all in a day’s work.
“People like Michael Farnsworth always think they are the smartest person in the room. Such arrogance usually leads to unpleasant consequences. I merely used scientific deduction, careful observation and reasoning. Since the late Leonardo Carstairs was the Treasurer of Carbide it was obvious he discovered Farnsworth - the Chief Executive Officer - was embezzling from the company. With evidence in hand Jo made short work of getting a confession out of him. He killed Crawford to keep him quiet.”
Clark shook his head in wonder. “You used such deductive reasoning to cut through our cover story and discovered who I really am. Lois and I are going to have to work harder to keep my death a secret.”
After taking a final sip of his coffee, Henry looked up and asked in a quizzical tone, “I don’t understand, why it should matter if it is discovered you are alive?”
Clark sensed Dr. Henry Morgan was trying to turn the tables on him, perhaps talk about his own secret rather than explain why he had gone missing for so many years. With the discussion of the Carbide case his journalist’s instincts were kicked into overtime, there was an extraordinary story here waiting to be told. He decided to press the man into talking. “I might ask the same thing of you. Obviously, there is a secret or secrets which must be kept hidden, otherwise why fake your own death – abandoning your family. As far as I know you were not in trouble with the law.”
Henry put down the coffee cup, stood and paced across the room, studying the change of scenery outside. The weather had deteriorated in the past thirty minutes. A heavy downpour of snow had turned the peaceful scene into a whiteout. The usual street landmarks were hidden behind the white that swirled with sharp gusts of wind. Scurrying figures dressed in dark clothing seeking shelter were little more than crude outlines of humanity. The soft flakes from an hour ago which had been so enchanting from the other side of a pane glass were going to cause a massive snarl of traffic. The expressions on his face matched the scene outside; it was dark and tightly closed, as if trying to hold off an avalanche of memories and their accompanying emotions.
“I have not done anything illegal.”
“Faking one’s death is illegal. Especially if the survivors collect a hefty payout from the insurance company.”
Again. Henry continued looking outside rather than face Clark.
“Correct me If I’m wrong, but you and Jo originally worked for the New York City Police Department; you as a Forensic specialist in the CSI department and Jo was a Homicide detective - two professions that can draw a lot of unwanted attention. So tell me Henry, was someone from the past trying to harm you or your family? There is also the question of your renewal. When I mentioned it, the question weren’t just annoying, you were frightened.”
Refusing to turn around, Henry shook his head and said tersely, “No, it was nothing like that. Mr. Kent, I must ask that this … this interrogation cease immediately!”
Clark hadn’t been wrong, his mysterious companion was upset with probing. It was time to stop with the questioning, for the moment. Slowly he stood up and stretched his legs, despite regeneration his limbs and joints occasionally reminded him of their true age. He looked down at the ancient blue volume and bent to pick it up. It felt warm and inviting in his hands, the leather binding had ceased in places, its lettering faded and the pages yellowed, still the book had survived many years of use. Its continued existence stood as mute testimony to the bookbinder’s art. Such a tome was either a family heirloom or a find picked up at a top-rate second-hand bookshop. Curious, he opened it to the inside cover, the writing was old and barely legible, yet the handwriting was distinctive to his enhanced Kryptonian senses it read:
August 15, 1945
To my darling Abigail:
Being wed to you has made my life complete. As you read these precious lines by Keats, think of me.
With all my love,
Henry
Studying the faded page very carefully, the intimate note from husband to wife was in a written in very distinctive style he had seen only once before, in Henry Morgan’s office nearly 40 years ago. It was an exact match.
His contemplation of the volume ended when he heard Henry’s voice ask succinctly. “Are you a student of poetry Mr. Kent or does that particular page hold some strange fascination for you?”
“Not a student, but I do enjoy the classics. Over the years I have developed interests in many things, but siblings, even twins do not have handwriting that matches exactly. The A in Abigail matches yours exactly. Why does the man in this room possess the same handwriting that matches of someone who should have been dead for many years? Who are you Henry Morgan? What happened to your wife Abigail?”
Slowly, painfully Henry told his narrative. “It’s a long story; I was born September 19, 1779, and while aboard the slave ship "The Empress of Africa". I was shot by the crew with the captain's flintlock pistol while trying to help free the slaves …”
With each word uttered, Clark could barely contain himself. Was this really possible? Had the man before him lived well over two hundred years? After he had finished there was a long silence in the room. Clark still found it hard to believe, but than if he really wanted to check out Henry’s story he could always ask H.G. Wells to find out if such a man existed during his time. Much as he disliked the idea of involving a time traveler in this intrigue, it was the least thing Herbert could do. After all, hadn’t they helped him more than once with repairing timelines? He to ask one more question.
“That does not explained what happened to Abigail. Where does Jo come into the picture? Is she like you?”
A gentle enigmatic smile curved his lips. “My second wife Abigail died in 1985. Jo is as normal as your wife. When we worked for the NYPD Homicide Department, I used my vast experience and two hundred years of medical knowledge to solve New York City's most baffling homicide cases. Originally Jo was rather put off by my presumptuous deductions, but over time she came to appreciate my expertise.”
“Oh? What drove you closer together?”
It was many things; a desire to see justice done, caring for the innocent and a love of solving mysteries. We came to understand one another. Jo had lost her first husband and that pain scarred her for a time. But it was during a rather difficult case, one which had deep personal meaning for me that things between us … shifted. In the midst of the investigation Jo had become strongly attracted to a wealthy Hotelier, Isaac Monroe. For a time they dated and the relationship had moved to the point of him suggesting they take a vacation to Paris of all places once the investigation had run its course.
“That must not have been easy to endure.” Clark said.
“No, it decidedly was not. I fumed quietly, like some lovesick school boy leaning against a wall, trying desperately not to show my feelings or let it interfere with the investigation. There was nothing wrong with Isaac, but he was just so charming … it quite rankled me to the bone!”
His companion nodded in understanding. He knew all too well how a wealthy man with smooth words and a glossy veneer could turn a woman’s head. “What did you do about it?”
“Do? There was nothing to do. At that time we had a professional relationship. Of course she had been to my home, had dinner with me and Abraham my son on numerous occasions. But our personal relationship was … undefined.”
Clark’s eyes crinkled in amusement and said softly. “Of course it was.”
Staring at his companion suspiciously Henry responded. “Pardon me; I did not quite hear what you say?”
Waving his hand for the story to continue, Clark said. “Oh, it was nothing. Obviously Isaac is no longer in the picture.”
“Thank heavens Jo called off the vacation and broke off the relationship. Isaac was moving too swiftly for her tastes. He married a lovely woman who happened to work for him in the finance department. Office romances are sometimes the best way to meet the right person - especially if they are conducted discreetly.”
The two men smiled at each other. They had both met their future wives on the job.
“Funny, for some strange reason I can see you on a British frigate being chased by Buccaneers.” Clark his tone a little lighter.
Henry cocked an eyebrow and said. “Trust me Mr. Kent, at the time, it was anything but amusing! So, how long before you and Miss Lane began your courtship? Surely your ‘other life’ and duties as Superman must have been inconvenient at times.”
Clark sputtered incredulously. “How … how did you know that?”
“Don’t be so surprised. Many factors came into play: The odd circumstances of your death. Passing yourself off as a long-lost relative who resembles Clark Kent perfectly as he was in the 1990’s. It is a documented fact that he was adopted by a kindly couple in Kansas. Why are you waiting here for Lois Lane rather than one of her children? From what I gather they are a close-knit clan that would not allow their mother to undergo such a dangerous process even at its latter stages alone. How could you have been renewed before Dr. Mercedes discovered a means of rejuvenating those over the age of sixty?'
Now it was Clark’s turn to look out the window. The winds pushed the snow about in greater gusts than before. It was whipping into a proper blizzard. Soon, S.T.A.R. Labs might have to close for the day.
Henry continued. “The last piece to the puzzle. Your ability to read my note to Abigail in this book. The war even touched that most prosaic of tools, pen and ink. The allies took amazing precautions to keep information out of the Axis hands even to the point of creating special ink that could not be read when transferred into microfilm. Over time, that particular ink fades to almost nothingness. I am the only one alive who knows what was written on that page. Without the proper specialized lenses my writing cannot be seen. Only Superman with his microscopic vision could have read it.”
Turning his eyes back to Dr. Morgan, Clark’s heart hammered within his chest, he had made a mistake. A mistake which might cost him and his family dearly.
“I surmise over the years others unknown to you have reached this conclusion as well, but for the greater good remained as quiet as you are now. We each hold the key to the other’s future happiness in our hands. Might I suggest we leave it at that?”
Profound relief flooded his heart. He managed to say only. “Thank you Henry.”
“Not at all. Sometimes it is for the good of those we love to keep secrets. Now, since our womenfolk still have not arrived. Please tell me something about your early days with Lois.”
On one of our first dates after solving the Shackleton freighter hijacking I came by to pick her up …”
Morgan held up his hand in a warning gesture, “Don’t tell me. Still getting ready?”
“Lois answered the door with her make-up and nails done and the perfume she sprayed on was light and floral. To top it all off she was wearing the most perfect little black dress. But …”
Henry now completely enthralled in the story said. “But?”
“Here she was looking like she stepped off a Paris runway, but in her hair were the largest pink rollers I ever saw! Honestly, they looked like soda cans! I sat around the apartment for another ten minutes waiting for her to look ‘just right’.”
Morgan nodded with a small knowing smile. “So was it worth the wait?”
Clark’s face glazed over as silver memories of how beautiful the evening turned out to be. Dinner, at a Brazilian restaurant where they had small plates of crispy thin crusted empanadas filled with seasoned beef, spicy chicken, and Brazilian chorizo served with chimichurri. Of course Lois wanted vegetables, so they shared a salada caprese; fresh mozzarella, roma tomato and basil leaves drizzled with aged balsamic and extra virgin olive oil. The meal was finished by serving a wedge of vanilla pound cake smothered in warm chocolate sauce. The expression of sinfully contented decadence on Lois’ beautiful face when he fed her that first perfect bite had lived in his memory for decades.
Afterwards they went dancing at a local club and then a late night walk through Centennial Park with a thousand stars shining down upon them. Through it all, he couldn’t take his eyes off her, thinking how fortunate he was to be spending time with such a fascinating woman.
“Yes,” he said softly as his mind returned to the present. “It was worth the wait.”
The two men continued sharing reminisces about the many instances their wives made them wait while they prepared for one event or another.
The doctor was chuckling after a particularly amusing reminiscence and asked, “Did the lady ever have to wait for you?
The other man grew quiet and answered slowly. “Oh yes, she had to wait for me to reveal my greatest secret. That was during a bumpy time in our relationship.”
Morgan stood up and went to the refreshment table. This time he made a cup of hot Earl Grey tea. “Interesting how that is. Joanna knew there was something very different about my personality; I can be rather gruff at times and a little too serious for my own good. That difference tried her patience on more than one occasion.
Clark nodded sagely, “Wives have a way of getting secrets out of their husbands. In my case, Lois figured out my deepest secret before I could reveal it. She was angry and very disappointed.”
“Why did you remain silent?”
Clark sighed; it was a question he had asked himself over the years.
“The best answer I can give is my fear of her reaction, it always stopped me.”
His companion nodded thoughtfully, Clark Kent’s fears were understandable and mirrored his own while telling Jo all about his long life. As a result of his bluntness he had very few friends, as time had gone on he began to cherish the time spent with Jo Martinez and his protégé Lucas. Not wishing to interrupt the narrative; instead he blew on the hot liquid and took a contemplative sip, allowing Clark to continue.
“We had grown close over a three year period. The closer we became the longer I put off telling her, the harder it became to say anything.”
“How did she find out? When did you provide the final clue?”
“That’s just the point, I didn’t. My cat did.”
A look of complete surprise crossed Henry’s face, than a chuckle escaped his lips he said, “I beg your pardon? Did you say your cat?”
Clark rubbed the back of his neck, as a blush his cheeks. “Well yes, it was after Lois had broken into LexSolar and was shot while trying to escape …”
His amusement vanished when he said, “Shot? What happened?”
“She came to my apartment, covered in blood. I nearly lost it, but thankfully, it looked worse than what it really was. Dr. Pete Ross came over and stitched up the wound. He was a good friend to do so, as a medical man you know all gunshot wounds must be reported to the police.”
“It sounds like this Dr. Ross is a true and good friend.”
A shadow passed over the other man’s face. “Was. He died some years ago.”
The two men sat quietly for awhile, remembering that most of their contemporaries were long gone.
Clark cleared his throat and continued, “Pete didn’t want Lois moved, so she spent the night at my apartment. I had to go to work that morning, I thought she would sleep at least until noon.”
“Something happened when she awakened?”
“My cat, Pepper was scratching at the door to my closet. Lois thought there was a mouse inside. She opened the door and discovered my Superman uniforms and other items that gave no doubt to my secret identity.”
“I see. How long did she remain upset?”
“For a few days. We spent a long night talking everything out. That conversation drew us closer than we had ever been. We have been blessed with sixty years of conversations and now there will be so many more. But for a time there was an interruption Lois and my family suffered greatly. Ignatius Klein made an error in judgment.”
Henry took in a quick breath blew it out and not hiding the annoyance in his voice replied. “The news service reported Clark Kent’s death from an apparent heart attack. Leaving behind a devoted wife and loving family. That’s more than an error in judgment it’s an abominable mistake. Dr. Ignatius Klein and I have crossed paths a time or two at science conferences. I have always considered him brilliant, but rather pompous fellow, yet it is inconceivable he could be so callous.”
With a hapless shrug Clark replied, “Imagine how I felt to discover my family thought I was dead? When I regained consciousness in a glass chamber which had direct access to the sky the first thing I asked about was Lois. Iggy told me what had happened and that my family thought I was dead. He thought it was best this way since Lois was so old that the shock of discovering I was still alive and growing younger would surely kill her.”
Henry snorted. “What rubbish! She did retreat for a time, as would any woman who had lost her husband. But in time her interest in life was restored. There was even a mention in the online edition of The Daily Planet that she and the family totally renovated the townhouse. That does not sound like a frail old woman to me.”
“Exactly. But I didn’t know that at the time. In any case, Iggy didn’t want me to leave my chamber confines until the sun’s radiation could speed up the rejuvenation process. But while my skin was still normal he kept taking samples of my blood, hair and skin.”
“You weren’t suspicious?”
“No. Please try to understand Henry; the Klein family has worked with my family for generations. There was no reason for me to distrust him. At first it made me uncomfortable and then when he kept insisting I remain it occurred to me I was being kept as a lab rat. It was the most horrible feeling I ever experienced. As soon as my powers were a little above human normal I escaped and went straight home.”
“She must have been shocked by your appearance.”
“Of course! Put yourself in my position …”
Before Clark could finish his sentence, Henry cocked an eyebrow and said somewhat drily. “You were saying?”
“Sorry, forgot who I was talking to. But you must admit it is not every day I talk with someone who is over two hundred years old.”
“I quite agree, it is not every day one converses with the Man of Steel in his normal guise.”
My biggest problem now is resolving my new identity without revealing my old one. Clark proceeded to tell Henry everything.
“Might I suggest a rather bold move?”
Suspicious about where this conversation was going Clark said, “What do you suggest?”
“Reveal everything.” Henry said with a shrug.
“Excuse me?”
“Well, that is to say, stay as close to the truth as possible. I understand you were ‘cloned’ after being ‘shot’ by Clyde Barrow?”
“Yes, but what has that have to do with now?”
“Undergoing the cloning process by Prof. Emil Hamilton caused your body to age normally, but at the time of your supposed ‘death’ it was actually regenerated to the where it was at the time of your cloning.”
“No. The scientific community, my friends and former colleagues would never accept such an outlandish theory?”
Henry shrugged. “Why not? The renewal process has been accepted with open arms. People are living their lives anew. Your particular story Mr. Kent shall merely be a little different. After all your late ‘best friend’ could fly.”
“What if the scientific community decides they want to study me?”
“With the renewal process in full swing, cloning research has been abandoned. Do you remember sulfa drugs?”
“Vaguely.”
“Precisely. Today there are much more reliable drugs being used. No one concerns themselves with those rather lethal chemicals anymore. The same attitude prevails towards cloning. Your life will not be bothered by genetics experts. I think I can speak with full authority since that is my profession.”
***
Before Clark could reply, the door opened, Lois entered the waiting room and Clark stood up, walked over and gently folded her into a comforting embrace. Heedless of Henry’s presence, she began to cry.
Wordless, Henry stood up and exited the room, shutting the door firmly behind him, giving the couple privacy.
“How is Ignatius?” He says while cupping her face in his hands.
“After the ray’s effects stopped he looked at me with confusion. He asked me what I was doing in his office, especially since you were waiting for me in the Guest Lounge. He doesn’t remember anything. Our family is safe from his interference!”
A breath expelled from Clark’s lungs he did not realize he was holding. “That’s good news. We have to tell Mercedes.”
“Already taken care of. She wasn’t happy to hear what I had done, but considering the circumstances it was understandable. No one in S.T.A.R. Labs besides herself knows the relationship we once had with him. I …I really didn’t want to do it Clark. But he was so arrogant! He wanted to publish what he had learned about your Kryptonian DNA! To him you were nothing more than a lab rat!”
“It’s a shame. Bernie would have been very disappointed with him. Maybe ‘under the circumstances’ you and I should leave Earth as soon as possible. Let some time go by before the world finds out I’m alive.”
“Alive? But Clark we discussed this! Thanks to Iggy’s interference, Clark Kent is dead.”
“That might not be the case. I was having a very interesting conversation with someone from both our pasts who might have a solution to the problem. Do you remember Dr. Henry Morgan?”
“The one who was killed in a car accident? Wasn’t he the husband of Jo Morgan? I thought I saw her here during one of my earlier sessions. Did you talk to one of their children?”
“Not exactly. He released her, stepped over to the door, opened it and called out. “Henry are you still here?”
Dr. Henry Morgan entered the room followed by tall woman wearing black pants and a teal sweater with thick dark hair cut in layers, streaked with a few stubborn strands of white. She had a striking face, the most prominent feature were cheekbones so strong they looked like they could cut glass.
Startled by the use of her husband’s true name she said, “Why did you call my great nephew Henry? His name is Ian.”
Lois stared at Jo and said, “I thought the same thing. But your great-nephew looks too much like Henry Morgan! Where have you been all these years? Were you recently renewed at another location?”
Sighing, Henry said patiently, "Clark. We need to let our ladies know what we have been discussing while waiting for them.”
Jo and Lois said together, “What have you been talking about?”
“Our future Lois. I meant what I said earlier about leaving Earth. But we need to talk about revealing to the world that I never died.”
Jo Morgan had been looking at the man before her and was not completely confused. “Excuse me. Aren’t you Clark Kent? Didn’t you die last year from a heart attack? It was on the news services …”
“Ladies. I suggest we leave S.T.A.R. Labs Guest Lounge and go someplace quiet and warm where we can discuss our futures calmly.”
“Henry, we did talk about this. The plan was to leave for the Asteroid Mining belt. They need doctors and law enforcement officials. It’s like the Wild West out there!”
Lois joins in with the words seemingly running together because of her swiftness of speech. “Remember I put in an interstellar uplink to Jason last night? He responded a few minutes ago. Our living quarters are set up. We even have jobs working for one of the online Mars publications. We just need to get there! I’m telling you there’s a story behind that crack in the Mars dome. My reporter’s instincts can feel it!”
“Well, in sixty-five years your instincts have never been wrong, but I think we can learn a thing or two from Henry and Jo.”
Lois nodded at her husband. "Now is not the time for me to start doubting you." Turning to the Morgans she said. “Please come to our townhouse. There’s plenty of room and we can put you up for the night. This storm doesn’t look like its going to let up anytime soon!”
Clark could not help but think that they had begun their married life a little over sixty years before. But it felt like yesterday that the adventure of their life together back at The Daily Planet had begun and now a new adventure beckons with perhaps new friends.
“She’s right, come over and we can talk. I make a great lasagna if I say so myself.” He walks out, his hand gently touching the lower part of his wife’s back.
Jo looked at the couple as the exited the lounge, then turned and studied Henry a touch of humor in her eyes when she sees him reaching for the ancient blue volume of poems.
“I heard something about Mars and a crack in the dome. Wasn’t that case settled months ago?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. The weather is rather beastly, driving home in this will be difficult. Might I suggest we take the Kents up on their offer and see what the night holds out for us?”
She answers by giving Henry a full and very generous kiss; expressing gratitude they will share untold years together. He sighs in sheer contentment, Keats said it best:
A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its lovliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep.
Dr. Henry Morgan and his wife of forty years, former NY PD Detective Jo Martinez depart arm in arm from S.T.A.R. Labs.
