After the hit on Arthur Chow, Lex raged for weeks. LexCorps was unable to acquire ChowTech, the way Clark had hoped they would, though it had seemed, for a little while, like things might go their way. But at the last moment, Bruce Wayne stepped in and made an offer that even Lex blanched at. Wayne Enterprises was simply too big, and too rich, to compete against. Even with the vast wealth Lex had both inherited and amassed from his own business empire, he could not match the bid Bruce Wayne made – not without putting LexCorps in a state of serious financial risk.
Clark’s chance at earning his freedom died before it ever fully materialized. Lex would hear nothing about his request to be allowed even the smallest exposure to the world at large, let alone be allowed to live and work amongst the masses.
Instead of planning what to do with his freedom, Clark started looking ahead to what Lex might have him do next. He’d been certain – absolutely certain – that Lex would have him go after Bruce Wayne next.
He was right.
About six months after Wayne Enterprises welcomed ChowTech into its family, Lex called Clark into his study. Clark was ready and went to meet Lex already dressed in the somber black uniform he’d long ago adopted for his deadly work.
“Lex,” Clark greeted his brother gravely, inclining his head slightly in respect and acknowledgment.
“Clark,” Lex returned, nodding once. “I see you’ve anticipated the reason I’ve called you in here.”
“You want me to kill Bruce Wayne,” Clark said matter-of-factly. “I’ve been wondering when you’d decide to send me.” He crossed the stately study and, with liquid grace, sat in the chair across from Lex, draping his left leg over the arm of the chair. “I’m curious, Lex. Why now? Why not six months ago?”
“Because six months ago, Bruce Wayne’s sudden death would have looked too suspicious,” Lex calmly replied, like a lion sizing up a passing herd of antelope. “By waiting, we can avoid having the authorities investigating it too deeply…especially if you can manage to make it appear to be accidental.”
“I’ll try,” Clark responded with cool indifference. “No promises. I have to take whatever opportunity arises. Even if it is a bloody one.”
Lex nodded in agreement. “Just make sure you do the job. The whole job this time.”
Clark sat forward a little, interested now. “I thought Bruce has no living family.”
“He doesn’t,” Lex confirmed, steepling his fingers. “But he does have a butler.”
“You want me to kill the hired help?” Clark asked incredulously, arching his eyebrow, silently looking for Lex to confirm it. He sat up straighter, removing his leg from the arm of the chair.
“He’s more than just the hired help,” Lex said, locking eyes with Clark. “From what I gather, the old man is practically a Wayne himself. Raised Bruce from the age of eight, when his parents were killed in front of him. Been with the Wayne family even longer than that – since Thomas Wayne’s youth.”
“So?”
“So,” Lex replied slowly, as if Clark were too stupid to understand the coming explanation, “for all we know, Bruce has written Alfred Pennyworth into his will to inherit the company in the event of his untimely demise. You are not going to leave things to chance. You will kill the butler and ensure that Wayne Enterprise is thrown into turmoil when Bruce is found dead. Do you understand?”
Clark nodded solemnly. “Yes, Lex. No survivors. When do I leave?”
“Right now. Nigel is waiting to drive you into Gotham City.”
Clark shook his head. “No.”
“Excuse me?” Lex asked, his eyes blazing at Clark’s defiance.
“Gotham is what? Two hours away by car? More if the traffic is heavy, which, let’s face it, on a holiday weekend, is likely. I can run there in far less time.”
“Run?” It was as though the idea was a foreign concept to Lex.
Clark shrugged. “You know how fast I am, Lex. And I won’t be bound to the roadways. In fact, it’s better if I avoid them completely, unless and until it becomes an absolute necessity. I can cut the commute down to probably a couple of minutes.”
“And the bridge into Gotham?”
“Easy. I’ll just stick to the pedestrian walkway. I’ll be going too fast for anyone to have a prayer of seeing me. Especially dressed head to toe in black.”
Lex didn’t reply right away but appeared to be thinking things over.
“And there’s the added bonus of not having any of the cars you own being seen in Gotham. At all.”
Lex gave him a disgusted eye roll. “Fine. But I swear, if you can’t get over there…” he began to threaten.
“Oh, relax!” Clark replied, unperturbed by Lex’s warning. “You have too little faith in me, brother.”
“Considering how badly you let me down on the Chow assignment,” Lex said with a shrug, “I’d say it’s warranted.”
It was Clark’s turn to roll his eyes. He stood and turned his back on Lex. “It’ll be done, I promise.”
“Go,” Lex said dismissively. “Get yourself ready for tonight.”
“I’m already ready. I’ll be leaving as soon as it’s fully night,” Clark said darkly. “Bruce Wayne won’t know what hit him.”
***
Clark crouched in the shadows, just outside of the high wall and strong gates of Wayne Manor. They were certainly imposing, Clark thought to himself, at least, to normal people. But he wasn’t normal. He was a super-powered alien and the world’s most proficient assassin. The wall might as well have been made out of Lego bricks for all it would do to stop him from getting in. Of course, Clark wasn’t really going to smash through the thick white stones. He didn’t want to leave any trace that anyone had been there at all, especially not someone who possessed such incredible strength.
So, he jumped.
In a single, fluid motion, he stood up and leaped into the air, clearing the wall with ease. He landed nearly silently on the other side, once more in a crouch. He took a moment to listen to his immediate surroundings, but there was nothing to be heard. Still, he didn’t want to take his chances. A light snow had begun, and the air had a heavy quality to it, so that sounds were muffled and muted as though heard through a veil of cotton.
Clark smiled to himself. This was to his advantage.
The snow hadn’t yet begun to stick to the ground, which meant he wasn’t in danger of leaving any footprints. And any sounds that he might inadvertently make – though he was always careful about making any unwanted, telltale noises – would be muffled to anyone who might be on the Manor grounds. Not that there would likely be any, Clark knew. On a night like tonight, anyone who didn’t have to be outside wouldn’t be. It was too cold for most regular people.
Clark dashed across the open lawn. It was expansive – the largest he’d ever seen. Barely any trees were permitted to sprout up from the richly fertilized soil and the few that were, were far apart and scrawny little decorative trees with spindly trucks that offered no concealment. Clark ignored them and made a beeline for the protective shadows of the manor itself. He breathed a little more confidently once he had the manor to shield him from prying eyes, at least in one direction. Though he knew it really wasn’t much, it still felt better than being out in the open, regardless of the fact that he’d moved like a deadly black hurricane cloud.
There was a balcony above Clark, and once more, he launched himself into the air after a swift check of the area. He caught the railing and deftly pulled himself up. He tried the sliding door into the bedroom beyond. Locked. Clark shrugged and eased himself back onto the railing, standing on it and balancing precariously. Up he jumped again, to the balcony above the one he was on.
Clark peered inside. It appeared that the master bedroom was beyond the door. He tried the handle, not daring to hope it would be open. It wasn’t. He nodded to himself. He’d keep the house locked up tight too if he were in Bruce Wayne’s position of insane power and wealth. He paused momentarily at the thought. He was a part of that world of riches, in a way. True, Lex controlled the finances – he was, after all, the head of LexCorps – but Clark benefitted greatly from the vast wealth that Lex had acquired over the years. Still, his situation was much different from Bruce Wayne’s. Whereas the entire world knew the billionaire’s face, no one knew Clark’s. He was the invisible side of LexCorps. No one knew his face. No one knew he was even alive, or that he’d once been known as Kal Luthor.
He kept moving, making his way to the roof. Once on top, he crouched down and stayed still, taking a few precious minutes to think about his next move and take stock of his surroundings. He supposed he could try the doors, but he wished to remain undetected. And although he possessed incredible speed, it would still look suspicious if the door suddenly appeared to open by itself. Besides, they likely had camera surveillance of the highest technology. For all Clark knew, the film could be shooting at a high enough frame-per-second rate to catch a good shot of him when slowed down far enough. No, he would avoid the doors at all costs.
He listened as he thought, tuning in his hearing and focusing it in on the inside of Wayne Manor. What he heard was disheartening. He heard voices. Lots of voices. And most of them belonged to children. He frowned. Bruce Wayne was Gotham’s – indeed America’s – staunchest bachelor. He had no children, let alone what sounded like a score of them. So what was going on?
A moment later, Clark had his answer. A deep “Ho! Ho! Ho!” resounded in Clark’s ears as he began to X-ray through the manor. He could see dozens of children all rushing to see Santa, as he entered into the large living room. Santa was dressed head to toe in a plush red suit of what appeared to be crushed velvet, with a white fur trim. Clark idly wondered if the fur was real.
Probably, his mind said with a dismissive snort. Bruce isn’t exactly known to be a cheapskate.
Santa proceeded to make his way over to a large armchair that had been pushed up in front of the huge Christmas tree in the room, right by the fireplace, where a merry blaze danced and twisted in the hearth. He sat down, setting down his heavy sack of toys next to him, while the young boys and girls watched him with wide eyes and all pressed around in eager anticipation. Clark was unimpressed and X-rayed through the thick, but very fake, white beard on Santa.
“There you are, Bruce,” Clark said with the barest curving up of his lips. “Sorry to break it to you, but Lex found you to be on the naughty list this year, Santa.”
Creeping slowly and quietly, he severed his powers and started to search the rooftop, in hopes of finding a way inside. Then, as he crested the ridge of the roof and started on the other side, he found what he was looking for. A large skylight loomed above what appeared to be a library or a massive study. He checked it thoroughly and found it much easier to disable the alarm on this window than on the previous ones. He sent out a precise, thin beam of his heat vision into the wiring beneath the glass, making a pinpoint hole in the glass in the process. With one obstacle down, he focused on the window itself. With his heat vision, he broke the seal holding the glass in place. Then he gently removed it, floated through the fresh access point, and set the pane of glass aside. It was, unfortunately, a telling sign that no ordinary man had snuck his way into the manor, but it couldn’t be helped.
Still, Clark smiled to himself. In the massive mansion, it would be easy to hide and bide his time until the moment was perfectly right to complete his assignment. He didn’t even need to find a place to conceal himself. With all of the excitement happening on the main level of the manor, Clark could be fairly secure and hidden on the upper levels. He chose to stay in the study, though he tucked himself away in the darkest corner he could find, back behind a towering bookshelf.
For more than an hour, he stayed put, crouched in the shadows, listening to the event on the main floor. After a while, it became clear just what was going on. Bruce Wayne, the world’s most famous orphan, was throwing his yearly Christmas party for Gotham’s orphan boys and girls – kids that otherwise might have gone without a Christmas gift or a reason to celebrate at all. It was no secret that some of the city’s orphanages were strapped for money and unable to provide “unnecessary” luxuries like holiday gifts. Clark frowned when he realized what was going on. Surely, a man who did things like throw parties and dress up like Santa for underprivileged kids couldn’t be a bad guy. But orders were orders, and Bruce was Lex’s biggest business rival.
No hard feelings, Bruce, Clark thought to himself as he waited for his chance to strike. It’s just business.
Gradually, the party began to wind down. It seemed that groups of kids, from the various orphanages around town, packed up their gifts and boarded buses and vans that arrived to bring them back to their pauper’s homes. Clark felt a certain empathy for them. If not for Lionel and Letitia Luthor, he probably would have grown up in an orphanage too, if being exposed to the elements hadn’t killed his vulnerable infant self. If not for Lex, he could have easily wound up on the streets after the fire that had destroyed their home and killed his adoptive parents in the same blow.
No kid deserves a life without parents to love them. No kid should ever have to wonder if some family will be kind enough to open their hearts and doors to them.
But that glimmer of sympathy for the kids changed nothing. Though he knew Bruce himself had been orphaned at a young age, Clark felt nothing for his target. The billionaire would simply become one more meaningless notch on Clark’s deadly belt.
Clark felt the weight of the hidden blade he wore on his right wrist, under the long black sleeves of his assassin’s uniform. He always wore it when heading out to make a kill, but he seldom had to use it. That suited him just fine. He preferred to take lives without shedding blood as often as was possible. He didn’t much care for the metallic stench of human blood as it assaulted his sensitive nostrils. He disliked how messy a spurting artery became. Being covered in the sticky red life fluid of another revolted him in an abstract way. He felt nothing for his victims, but yet, he hated knowing that he’d been the one to end their life. Yes, he hated being Lex’s messenger of death, but he owed his brother his life and so he swallowed down his feelings. He would kill for as long as he needed to, and force himself to feel nothing at all. Not horror over his actions. Not pride for a job done successfully. Neither pity nor remorse for the lives he took. Nothing but a deadly purposefulness that, perhaps one day, he’d be able to shed so that he could integrate himself into normal society.
Now he released the spring and let the blade shoot forth, out of his sleeve. He fingered the sleek, slender, razor-sharp metal, taking a certain bit of comfort in the blade. He’d been wearing the device for so long that he could scarcely recall what it was like to be a carefree child who didn’t need to worry himself about slicing people’s throats. He rarely had use for the hidden blade; he was almost always able to use his powers to kill his targets, and always strove to make it look like an accident, rather than a precisely carried out murder. But sometimes he found himself in situations where a sliced throat or stab through the heart got the job done easier. And, sometimes, Lex demanded that a job be done in as brutal a manner as Clark could manage. It was rare, and the target usually had to have done something extraordinary to piss off Lex, but it had happened. Clark hated those jobs the most, but he did them without complaint. He would never show any weakness to Lex.
He retracted the blade and set the spring lock, wondering idly how things would go tonight. A thousand scenarios ran through Clark’s mind. Perhaps Bruce would want to take in a few moments of fresh air. Clark could easily freeze the man with his icy breath and it would be assumed the billionaire fell and froze to death in the plummeting temperature. Or maybe he would take a bath and Clark could drown him, like he’d done to Arthur Chow. Perhaps Bruce would come into the study where Clark was hidden, and Clark would be forced to use the hidden blade. Maybe he would fall asleep in the armchair by the fire. Clark was already acutely aware of how one little stray spark could set a room ablaze and trap those within. Bruce could choose to take in some fresh air from his balcony and “slip” in the snow, tumbling over the railing to his tragic demise. It all depended on what Bruce would do. Clark didn’t mind. He was flexible and quick to adapt to whatever situation presented itself.
“Okay, Alfred, that’s the last of them. We can lock up the manor and get some rest,” he heard Bruce say, thanks to his exceptional hearing.
“Very good, sir. What shall I have the caterers do with the leftovers?” came a lightly accented, British voice.
“Divide it up. Have them bring the leftovers to as many soup kitchens as they can manage.”
“Anything you’d like to keep for yourself, Master Bruce?”
“Maybe one slice of cake. I spent so long playing the part of Santa, I didn’t get a bite. But only one slice. The rest can go with the remaining dinner items,” Bruce said dismissively, his voice thick with exhaustion.
“As you wish,” the butler replied.
“Thanks, Alfred. I’m going to head upstairs. Everyone’s been paid already. Once they’re done, you can retire to your quarters if you’d like. I’m not planning on going out tonight.”
“I’m not surprised,” the older man said. “You’ve been out every night for the last two weeks. You need a break.”
“I wish I could go out. But the weather is supposed to get bad, and, while I wouldn’t normally worry about it, I’m pretty beat from tonight,” Bruce replied, a heavy sigh in his voice. “It was worth it though.”
“Yes, it was,” Alfred replied in a soft tone. “The children seemed to have had a wonderful time tonight.”
“They did,” Bruce confirmed. He sighed again. “It always nice, to have the house filled with laughter.”
“Indeed, sir.” The butler paused. “Perhaps…if I may be so bold as to point out…you and Miss Vale…”
“No,” Bruce said firmly. “That ship has sailed, Alfred. She’s not able to accept who I really am, and I’m too set into my work to stop doing what I do.”
“Of course, sir,” came the disappointed reply. “I’ll see to the cleanup. Have a good night, Master Bruce.”
“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce said tiredly. “See you in the morning.”
So you think, Clark’s mind hissed dangerously as he readied himself to move on the kill, just as soon as he knew where Bruce was heading.
Of course, he had to exercise extreme caution. He couldn’t make any noise – or allow Bruce to make any noise – that would attract the attention of the crew cleaning up from the party. Even if Bruce was in the perfect position for Clark to kill him, if there was any chance he might be seen, he would have to let the opportunity pass until he knew there a was zero percent chance of alerting the others to what was going on.
Footsteps.
Footsteps coming up the grand staircase of the manor.
Clark held his breath, waiting and listening.
Footsteps continuing to climb upward.
Clark stood in a half-crouch, ready to engage his hidden blade if it came to it.
Footsteps coming down the hallway.
The doorknob to the study turned. Clark heard a stifled yawn as the door silently swung open. In a flash, Clark was behind the door, a burst of his super speed getting him to his destination before it could fully swing open. The light switch was thrown to the ‘on’ position and the overhead lights brightened the darkened room.
“What the…?” the man said as he saw the glass from the skylight.
But that was all he got out before Clark was on him, the hidden blade being driven into the side of the man’s skull, piercing the brain and killing him instantly. In less than two seconds from the time the lights had been turned on, it was over, and the lifeless body was slumped in Clark’s arms. It happened so quickly and on such pure instinct, that it was only when Clark laid the body down that he realized it wasn’t Bruce Wayne. It wasn’t even the butler.
“Oh no,” Clark whispered in horror as he gazed upon the young man – no older than himself.
“Hey, Jason,” called Bruce’s voice from down the hall and coming closer with every sickened beat of Clark’s heart. “Did you find the book I left out on the desk for you?”
Clark knew he was about to be caught, but the sight of the dead teenager on the floor froze him in his tracks.
“What have I done?” he whispered in a choked voice.
This wasn’t supposed to happen! Clark had been ordered to kill Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth. Not some random teenager. Not someone who was Clark’s peer.
What was he doing here? his brain screamed in dismay. He wasn’t supposed to be here! He wasn’t supposed to die!
For the first time in a long time, Clark felt almost nauseous over his kill. Blood leaked from the hole in the young man’s skull. Bits of brain matter and sticky red blood clung to Clark’s hidden blade, revolting him down to his very core. He had to fight the urge to rip the damned blade from his arm and throw it across the room. But that would leave evidence behind. While Clark was a ghost in that not a single person outside of Lex and a scant few trusted personnel knew of his existence, the blade had his fingerprints on it. He always wore gloves on a mission, but he’d never felt the need to wear them back in the safety of Lex Tower when he cleaned and cared for his blade, nor did he ever put on his gloves until after the apparatus keeping the blade hidden beneath his sleeves was strapped on tightly.
He had to move, he knew that. But he couldn’t. He was transfixed by the awful thing he’d just done. For a moment, the body – still leaking blood and destroyed brain tissue – was all that mattered.
“Jason?” the voice called again, and Clark was dimly aware of how dangerously close to the study Bruce was now. “Jason?”
What happened next would forever embed itself into Clark’s memory as fractured moments of single actions, like puzzle pieces too scattered and misshapen to fit together into one cohesive picture.
Footsteps, just outside the open door.
A strangled gasp of horror.
A body, throwing itself at Clark.
Clark’s body, finally jolting into action.
Meaning to bolt away, out the door, and outside the manor at top speed.
His body leaving the floor as he levitated in midair.
A lightning strike of wonderment and fear in his mind as he realized he was floating.
The surge of adrenaline that sent Clark zooming upwards, out through the open skylight, into the think snow-filled clouds above the manor.
Hovering there for a long minute, trying to catch his breath and attempting to wrap his head around what had just happened.
His emotions at war – his disgust at having killed someone who had never been meant to die that night mixed with his awe and elation at how natural it felt to be flying, and a healthy dose of fear that he’d been caught at the scene of a murder for the first time in his life.
Clark shook his head, trying to clear it so that he could think straight and plan his next move. He considered going back into the manor and finishing the job Lex had sent him to do, but he could already hear police sirens blaring in the night. A few flashes of red and blue lights were getting close to Wayne Manor. Clark knew he was fast, and could probably finish the job before the police arrived, but he didn’t want to risk having to needlessly kill other innocents that night. Once – mistake that it was – was enough for Clark. Though Bruce would be on high alert for a while, Clark would have to return at another time to complete his mission.
“Lex isn’t going to be happy,” he said to himself, his breath frosting out before him in a ghostly white puff.
But, as angry as Lex would be, Clark knew it was better if he didn’t return to Wayne Manor. He swore to himself that he would make things right, somehow. And part of that was not allowing the police to see him there. He couldn’t afford to possibly be identified and traced to Lex.
He was doing the only thing that he could. Lex would understand that, wouldn’t he?
Clark took a moment to calm his racing thoughts, then grinned.
“I’m flying,” he said in awe. “I’m actually flying.”
His newest power delighted him. And he wondered, even if just for a moment if he should use it to his advantage. If things turned out badly when he reported back to Lex, he could perhaps rectify the situation by showing his brother how even more valuable he was now that he could defy gravity.
“And, if that doesn’t work,” Clark said to himself, “he can’t stop me from flying off whenever I want. I can see the world each night when he sleeps. I could even vanish for good, if I wanted to.”
The thought was intriguing. While he still felt like he owed Lex his life, killing the teenager tonight had Clark feeling like maybe some of his debt had been lifted. Clark had made Lex swear to him that he would never have to kill someone who didn’t deserve to die, even though Clark acknowledged to himself that Lex often played fast and loose with the “deserving” criteria.
The first police cruisers turned onto the Wayne estate now, and Clark – hidden as he was in the clouds – felt exposed. He angled himself toward Metropolis and flew through the storm, in as fast and straight a course as an arrow loosed from a bowstring. He paid careful attention to his speed, keeping it fast enough to be practically invisible to the naked eye but slow enough not to tear the air apart in a sonic boom. He made a beeline for Lex Tower and landed lightly on the balcony of his brother’s office.
Lex was at work, reading over a pile of contracts, marking things he wanted to change or signing his name to ones he approved off. Clark watched for a couple of minutes, gathering his courage to give his brother the bad news. Then he gently rapped his knuckles against the door, startling Lex.
Lex dropped the paper in his hand in surprise, then swiveled around to investigate the source of the unexpected sound. A look of confusion overtook his surprise when he caught sight of Clark. He stood uncertainly, then went and opened the lock on the balcony doors. He watched mutely as Clark strode inside and took a seat. For his part, Clark delighted in seeing his brother speechless for once – especially knowing how likely it was that Lex would erupt with anger once he heard about the botched assassination attempt. Once Clark was settled, Lex closed and locked the doors again, then sat in his own chair. He folded his hands before him on the desk and stared, wide-eyed, at Clark, though he’d managed to bring his features back into a more overall neutral expression.
“I know, I know,” Clark said after a moment of oppressive, expectant silence. “How did I get to the balcony, right?”
Lex nodded once. “An explanation is in order.”
Clark shrugged. “Apparently, I can fly now.”
“Fly?” Lex scoffed.
Instead of answering with words, Clark allowed himself to float up off the cough, around the room, and then lightly landed back in his seat.
“I see,” Lex said tonelessly. “And this has been since…when, exactly?”
“Since tonight,” Clark replied vaguely.
“I see,” Lex repeated. He paused, then cut straight to the chase. “And I assume I’ll be reading about Bruce Wayne’s demise in the morning paper?”
“Uh…well…” Clark stammered, scratching at his left ear.
“You did kill him, didn’t you?” Lex asked, his voice going deadly cold.
“Not exactly.”
Lex’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “What do you mean, ‘not exactly?’ Your mission was to kill him, as well as the butler.”
“I know. But it got…complicated,” Clark tried to explain, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.
“Complicated? It should have been simple, for someone with your abilities,” Lex challenged in a hiss.
Clark nodded in acknowledgment. “Under normal circumstances, yes. But his home was filled with kids when I arrived. I overheard it said that it was a Christmas party for all the orphaned kids in the city.”
“And?” Lex asked, unfazed and unimpressed.
“So what was I supposed to do?”
“You were supposed to get the job done, no matter what,” Lex said, his neck muscles bulging as he fought to keep from yelling.
“Bruce was dressed up like Santa Claus, handing out gifts, Lex! What was I supposed to do? Go in there and blast Santa to bits with my heat vision, in front of all the kids? For Christ’s sake, Lex! I know I’m a killer, but I’m not sadistic!”
“No, you moron,” Lex shot back. “You were supposed to wait until the coast was clear, then blast Bruce Wayne into oblivion.”
“I tried that!” Clark replied heatedly. “I thought I had the drop on him. I wound up killing some kid about my age instead! Bruce caught me red-handed. Maybe he couldn’t see my face, but…I got out of there, as fast as I could. That’s when I discovered that I can fly.”
“You mean he was right there in front of you and you still managed not to kill him?” Lex erupted fierily, ignoring Clark’s obvious distress over having killed the wrong man.
Clark was struck incredulous. He knew his face mirrored his inner pain, and yet Lex only cared that Bruce had been allowed to live, not that an innocent man had died. But he dared not bring that up to Lex.
“I…I got a little…out of sorts, killing the wrong person,” he admitted carefully. “By the time I’d calmed down, the police were turning onto the estate grounds. I didn’t think it was smart to tempt fate. I mean, what if something happened and the police figured out who was behind the murder plot? What if they’d traced it to you? I couldn’t risk it.”
Lex pinched the bridge of his nose. “You are truly worthless, you know that? I could have done a hundred different things to get the police off my tracks. But now Bruce Wayne knows someone is after him. He’ll disappear, mark my words. We may not get another shot to eliminate him.”
“We’ll find him again,” Clark vowed. “Now that I can fly, I can search the entire globe if I have to.”
“So you can do what, exactly? Let him go again after you kill the wrong person?” Lex taunted.
The words were a slap in Clark’s face. But perhaps he deserved it. His hesitation had cost him valuable seconds. His inner turmoil had prevented him from making the most out of the time he’d had between the discovery of the murder and when the police had arrived at Wayne Manor. He should have gone back in and finished the job. He could have moved with a speed that would have prevented Bruce from ever knowing what had hit him. But…he hadn’t. He’d hidden in a cloud like a coward, berating himself for killing that teenager.
“I’ll make it right,” Clark said in a near-whisper, more for his own benefit than Lex’s.
“Damn right you will, if we can find Bruce Wayne again,” Lex growled.
A knock sounded at the door. A look of annoyance crossed Lex’s face as he glared at the door. But, after a moment, he called out.
“Come in!”
The door opened the tiniest crack. “I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but your package has arrived.”
Some of Lex’s irritation melted away. “Ah, Nigel, yes. Do come in.”
“You want me to leave?” Clark asked, praying the answer was yes. He started to rise from his chair.
Lex gave him a withering look. “I’m not finished with you yet.”
Clark sat back down, waiting silently. Nigel strode in confidently, holding a wooden box before him. Lex beckoned his old friend in, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Nigel quickened his pace only marginally, retaining a very proper walk as he made for Lex’s desk.
“Thank you, Nigel,” Lex said, eyeing the box greedily.
“My pleasure, sir.”
“And the messenger?” Lex inquired.
“Already paid,” Nigel said, in a way that suggested to Clark that death, rather than money, had been doled out.
“Excellent,” Lex said with a satisfied nod. He reached for the box but didn’t open it right away. Instead, he ran his hands over the varnished cherry colored surface, a look of triumph and expectancy in his features. “Have you opened it?” he asked Nigel.
The older man shook his head. “No, sir. I thought it best that you have that privilege.” He produced a key from his pocket and handed it over to Lex.
Lex took it graciously and fit it into the inset lock on the box.
“What’s in there?” Clark asked, not bothering with his X-ray vision.
“A gem,” Lex said, choosing to indulge Clark enough to answer his question.
“A…gem?” Clark almost laughed. “You’re excited about a gem? Don’t you own enough sparkly rocks, brother?”
Lex shook his head, still gazing at the box, his eyes not even flickering to Clark. “Not like this one.”
“What does it do? Create a renewable energy source?” Clark jested cockily. “Cure cancer?”
“It’s a rare find,” Lex said seriously, pausing just long enough to give Clark a sour look. “It’s an unknown rock, never before seen anywhere. Possibly the only one of its kind, though I have my contacts searching for more.”
“You won’t have many more contacts if you keep killing them,” Clark smugly pointed out.
“That wasn’t one of my contacts,” Lex said flatly. “That was some street thug who thought he could extort a large sum of money from me.”
“Ah,” Clark said in mock understanding.
“You know, for someone who screwed up as badly as you did tonight, you’ve got a lot of nerve giving me lip,” Lex growled dangerously.
“Okay, okay, sorry,” Clark said throwing his hands up in surrender. “Go on, open the box. Let’s see this mystery jewel of yours.”
Lex eyed him for a long moment, as if daring Clark to say another word. Clark didn’t give him the satisfaction of saying anything, robbing Lex of his excuse to rip into Clark a little more. Finally, Lex turned the key in the lock and opened the lid of the box. He reached in, eyes wide with glee, and lifted the glowing green stone from the crushed velvet cushioning within.
Instantly, Clark felt a brutally intense sensation of pain assault his entire body. It was like a thousand flaming knives thrust into his brain. It felt like his very flesh was being flayed away from his bones. It felt like every nerve ending was sent ablaze and like every organ in his body was being torn to shreds. His strength bled out of his body from a hundred unseen wounds. Nausea roiled in Clark’s stomach and he pitched forward in his chair, wishing he could throw up but finding even that small task outside the realm of his abilities. The edges of his vision blackened, narrowing his field of view to something only slightly bigger than pinpricks.
“Lex!” he gasped as an invisible vice clamped shut around his lungs, squeezing the breath from him. “Close…box…”
As his body spasmed and curled involuntarily into a fetal position, Clark’s world went black.
Lex looked down at Clark’s unconscious body in surprise. Then he looked appraisingly at the chunk of rock he held in his hand. A grim smile contorted his face into a thrilled look of approval as a thought occurred to him.
“Nigel,” he said at length, tucking the stone away again. “Find out everything you can on this rock. And get me as much of it as can be humanly found. Spare no expense.”
To Be Continued…
