Isolated.
Clark was used to being alone, but not quite like this. The silence around him was deafening. In Lex Tower, he could usually find something to do. He could raid the library for books to read. He could watch as much television as he could stomach. He had access to virtually any music he wanted. He even had every up-to-date and out-of-date video game system imaginable. It was never silent in Lex Tower unless he wished it to be.
But here?
Here, he had nothing except his own thoughts to occupy his time with. That was a truly terrifying thought for him. His mind had never been a pleasant place. His thoughts were usually dark and his dreams filled with murder. He was desperate for any distraction he could get. And yet, he was denied that. Already, his mind had turned to unpleasant thoughts. Already he wondered if he would die in this cage like a beast deemed too unfit to be showcased in the zoo.
Clark figured it would be days or weeks before he saw Lois or Bruce again. He wouldn’t have even blamed them for leaving him in isolation. He’d confessed his involvement in the murder of the Lane family, and he’d been difficult about giving up his name. A name he knew would turn up no results if and when Lois used her reporter’s resources to look into him. He didn’t care that it would keep Lex safe. He wanted to see that sociopath taken down one day, ripped from his pedestal of prestige and cast down lower than the lowliest of people. He wanted to see LexCorps topple to the ground, smashed into dust, and utterly forgotten by the populace at large.
And yet, there was no way he was going to work with his captors. They were no better than Lex. They’d poisoned him with Kryptonite. They’d locked him in a jail cell, this one smaller and shabby than he’d experienced in Lex Tower. They looked down their noses at him, like he was a caged animal, unworthy of human compassion. And maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t. He’d killed a lot of people over the years. Too many to recall. He’d killed people they’d cared about. He’d been nothing more than an instrument of death. He wasn’t human. Not in his actions, and certainly not in his DNA.
He went to sleep that night brooding over his captivity and wondering why Lois had such a profound effect on him. Why did she make his pulse rise? Why did his heart race in her presence? Why did he have the urge to take her into his bed? Though he’d never known a woman’s touch – Lex had never gifted him with so much as a streetwalker or the previous night’s conquest – he knew what transpired between men and women in the bedroom. Despite being locked away from the world, he’d had access to Lex’s massive library and all of the premium cable channels. And while he’d hoped one day to experience the pleasures of the flesh for himself, he’d forced the idea from his mind, knowing it would never happen, not while Lex controlled him.
But Lois suddenly made those desires come to the forefront of his mind, and he found himself having very vivid dreams about her.
“Clark?” she called to him in his dreams.
He smiled in his sleep, and hugged the thin pillow to himself even tighter.
“Clark!”
The sharpness in the tone jolted him awake. He bolted upright and blinked rapidly, trying to figure out where he was and dimly wondering what time it was.
Probably the middle of the night, he guessed, still half asleep.
He yawned as his surroundings coalesced around him. He was still locked in his underground prison. He was still Bruce Wayne’s captive. But Bruce was nowhere to be seen, he realized, as his vision cleared and he saw Lois standing alone in front of his cell.
“About time,” she grumbled.
“Are you my conjugal visit?” he snapped, half in jest, half with a sharp edge of spitefulness. He sent up a silent thanks for the rumpled blankets that concealed his lap.
“Funny,” she deadpanned, her eyes hard as glaciers. “We need to talk.”
“Didn’t we already do that?” he teased maliciously. He made a show of looking around. “So, where’s your boyfriend?”
“Bruce is a colleague, nothing more,” she bristled, rising to his bait. “And, if it were up to him, I wouldn’t even be here right now. So, unless you enjoyed his refusal to let anyone talk to you, you’ll answer my questions, right now.”
“I’d rather sleep.”
“For a man who’s lost everything, you seem to have this ridiculous notion that you’re in control of the situation, don’t you?” she asked in a patronizing way.
“You wake me up in the middle of the night and want me to worship at your feet like a loyal dog?” he shot back, incredulous.
“All I want is answers! You killed my family! I think I deserve them.”
“Trust me,” Clark said, getting up out of his bed, now that the effects his dreams had caused in his body had subsided. “There’s nothing to be gained, asking me about it.”
“Everything is to be gained,” she argued.
He shook his head. “You won’t like the answers. Nor, do I think, you will believe half of them.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to will away the mental images of the car crash that had killed them woman’s family, and not succeeded in the least. “Leave it alone, Miss Lane. For your own good, let it alone.”
Determination settled into her features. “Trust you? Trust a low-life murderer? I don’t think so.” Her brow furrowed and her lips pursed into a thin, hard line. “I’ll get those answers from you…without Bruce’s intervention or with it. You’ve already seen that he’s not afraid to do whatever he needs to, to get what he wants.”
Mentally, Clark had to acknowledge that she was right. Bruce had used the Kryptonite against him once. There was no doubt in his mind that the man would do it again, if need be. But he still wasn’t sure talking about the crash was a good idea. Even if he told Lois the truth, there was always the chance that she would turn around and ask Bruce to use the Kryptonite anyway, as her own brand of vigilante justice.
“I’ll make you a deal,” he finally answered her. “I’ll answer your questions if you talk to Bruce about taking this collar off me. You have no idea what it’s like, carrying this thing around, like an animal.”
“I don’t make deals with monsters,” she said crossly, her patience already appearing to wear thin.
“I’m not…” Clark protested but clamped his mouth shut before he could finish. How could he argue with her assessment? In her eyes – to everyone’s eyes – he would appear to be the monster she’d called him.
“You’re not…what?” she prodded. “Not a monster? Not a psychopath? Not an inhumane piece of garbage?” Each accusation was louder and more defiant than the last. “Please, argue this point with me,” she challenged.
“I’m…” Clark paused, scrambling for an answer while his heart raced at the mere sight of her, angry as she was. “I’m not…what you think I am. I never wanted to be an assassin.”
“Not many of us do, yet here you are,” she retorted, her eyes flashing.
“We’re all a product of circumstance, Miss Lane,” he said as he leaned a hip against the bars of his cell. “You. Me. Bruce. We all have to use the cards life deals us in the best way we can.”
“Your ‘best way’ was to kill people?” She shook her head in disbelief, as though Clark were the biggest idiot she’d ever met.
He shrugged. “It kept a roof over my head, food in my stomach. It kept me…safe…from people who…didn’t have my best interests at heart. Or…so I thought. By the time I realized my master didn’t have my best interests in mind – at all – it was too late.”
“Sound to me like you’re deflecting the blame. Refusing to take personal responsibility,” Lois said, putting her hands on her hips like a disapproving mother.
He shook his head. “You don’t understand.”
“I would if you’d just stop speaking in riddles,” she pointed out sharply.
He had to acknowledge that was true, but staying ambiguous and hiding in the shadows was too deeply ingrained in him. Coming clean, in a direct, straight-forward, manner wasn’t something that he was comfortable with. It went against his very nature.
“Let me ask you something. Miss Lane. If you suddenly woke up one morning, and learned that everything you’d ever known was wrong, what would you do?” He spread his arms wide, as if alluding to the entire world beyond the bars of his cell. “That being a reporter wasn’t in your best interest, but was being used to advance your boss’ position in the world? That by exposing corrupt politicians and criminal masterminds, you were hurting society, rather than helping it?” He saw the microscope flinch in her eyes and decided to press things further. “That by putting people in jail, you were only making your boss richer and more powerful, regardless of if the people you put in jail ‘deserved’ it or not?” He looked away, knowing he appeared snobbish, but in reality, unable to meet her gaze. He’d meant to wound her with his words, but had, instead, stirred up the bitterness he felt toward himself.
“I’d still know right from wrong,” she immediately countered, crossing her arms. “I’d still know that criminals belong in jail. I’d still know that it’s wrong to kill people, no matter what the reason is. I wouldn’t call being a puppet an excuse. I’d acknowledge that, willingly or not, I’d made the decision to do evil things.”
“Easy to say until you’ve walked that path,” Clark argued, though gently.
“And easy enough to make assumptions about people you don’t even know,” she volleyed back. “But philosophical debates aren’t the reason why I’m here.”
A retort started to form on Clark’s tongue, but he swallowed it down. He was too tired for this verbal sparring. “No, you aren’t,” he allowed stifling a yawn behind one hand and knowing his was failing to hide it.
“Awww, is the poor big man sleepy?” she mocked in a sing-song voice that should have been reserved for a baby. “Am I interrupting his murder-filled dreams?”
“You know what? Maybe I’ll just climb back into bed and leave you wondering at the answers to your questions,” Clark replied, as though coming to a sudden decision.
“I’ll make your life a living hell,” she swore.
Clark chuckled darkly. “Oh please. You can’t make things any worse for me than they already are.”
“I’ll get the Kryptonite,” she vowed.
“You know something? At this point, you’d be doing me a favor by killing me,” he tossed back with indifference. “At least I wouldn’t have to put up with your constant badgering.”
“You touch that bed,” she growled, “and I’ll make you beg for death.”
“I’ll bet you make a lot of men beg. Come on in. I’m willing if you are,” he offered, giving her a lustful look.
Lois gave him a look of disgust that told him exactly how pathetic she thought he was. “That’s how you want to play? Fine. Bruce and I will see you in the morning. With the Kryptonite.”
Clark involuntarily gulped. The threat in her voice let him know that she wasn’t bluffing. He could see it in her eyes. She was not a woman to be trifled with.
Perhaps I’ve poked this bear once too many times, he thought to himself.
Lois was oblivious to his worry. She was still making her threats. “And believe me, I’ll make you scream like you never have before,” she promised him in a deadly voice. She turned to leave and Clark battled with himself for a moment.
Do something! his mind screamed in terror that she would make good on her threat to torture the answers out of him with the Kryptonite.
What could he do? He could not allow her to know how scared he was of that rock.
Feign defeat! his mind clamored. Make it look like you’re tired of fighting!
He sighed. “Wait,” he called softly, making the word sound heavy.
“What? You want to make another lewd comment? You need me to stay for another minute so you can undress me with your eyes? Not interested,” she called back over her shoulder.
“No,” he forced himself to say. Then he sighed heavily, rubbing at his tired eyes. “Go ahead. Ask your questions. But, I’m warning you, I won’t sugar coat things for your benefit. You’d better be sure you want to know the answers to your questions.”
Lois stopped but didn’t turn around right away. Maybe she was thinking things over. Maybe she was formulating another biting retort. Clark couldn’t tell, so he waited quietly, trying to judge her reactions based on the way she held herself. Finally, she made a movement, after what felt like centuries, but was, at the most, five long seconds. “Why?” she asked sharply, whirling back around to face him. “What did we ever do to you? My father? My mother? My sister?” Her breath hitched and Clark could see a glimmer of a tear in her eye. “What did I ever do to you?”
Clark spread his hands helplessly. “Nothing.”
“Then why did you murder them?” she practically screamed.
“I…was…told to. My boss…he had a…a vendetta, against your parents,” Clark replied, choosing his words carefully. “You and your sister…you weren’t supposed to be a part of things. But when I got there and found you two with your parents…I didn’t want to go through with the kill. But L…my employer…insisted.” It brought an unexpected lump to Clark’s throat to admit these things to Lois.
“So, like a good little lap dog, you did exactly what you were told,” Lois supplied with disgust.
“It’s not like that! I had no choice!”
“I saw you fly, that night when you tried to kill Bruce. Don’t tell me you couldn’t have walked – or flown – away from your boss,” Lois thundered back, pacing toward his cell, just out of his reach if he should put out an arm toward her.
“No,” Clark confessed, tugging at the steel ring around his neck. “If I had, he could have killed me on the spot.”
“I’m not buying it.”
“It’s the truth,” he said, hanging his head a little. “You’ve seen what this thing can do it me. My master…he’s used it against me. A lot. I didn’t want to lose my life.”
“So you traded my family’s life for your own?” she yelled.
“What would you have done?” Clark threw back at her, just as loudly. “Gun to your head.” He held his hand in front of himself, in the shape of a gun, like a child playing at cops and robbers. He pointed the imaginary weapon at her head. “You have to execute the person in front of you, or be killed, all the while knowing that you aren’t saving their life at all, that the gunman will just find someone else to do the deed. What would you do?” he repeated bitterly, spitting the words at her.
“I’d rather die than kill an innocent person,” she sneered in a self-assured way.
“You say that now,” Clark replied with cool dismissal, turning partly away from her.
“Unlike you, I have morals.”
“Morals?” He snorted a dark laugh. “Morals mean nothing when your life is on the line. Believe me, I know.”
“A life as a hired assassin isn’t much of a life,” she responded, crossing her arms again and raising a skeptical eyebrow.
“It’s better than no life at all.” He dragged his hand through his hair, ill at ease with telling Lois these things. He sighed again and decided to make the final plunge. “Not that it probably means much to you, but…I did try to save you. And your sister.”
Lois snorted in disbelief. “And I’m Santa Claus.”
“No, really,” he insisted. He gestured vaguely, as though the destroyed car were right in front of Lois. “After I popped the tire and sent the car into that tree, I went down to check on everyone. Your parents were already beyond help. But there was a chance that you and your sister could be saved.” He paused for a moment, seeing the events unfolding before his waking eyes.
He hung his head a little, embarrassed and still shaken by how he’d defied Lex that night. “I took your phone. I dialed 911, hoping the operator would get a fix on the signal. I…I couldn’t risk speaking. My boss…he made me wear a headset whenever I went out to…complete an assignment.” His hands shook with residual dread that Lex would one day find out how he’d disobeyed such a direct order. “I managed to do it without him seeing or hearing what I was up to. I wanted to help you, but I didn’t want to risk my own life. After I left, I looked back and saw that other car stop where the crash was, and I knew that, even if my effort had failed, you and your sister would get help.”
“Help?” Lois asked, nearly laughing in hysteria. She stormed over to his cage, reached in, and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him in closely. “Help? Help would have been in leaving us alone! My sister…the doctors said her brain damage was too great. I was forced to make the decision to turn off her life support! I had to plan a funeral for my parents and my sister! Help! Pah!” Her words were poison and Clark felt the sting of each one as they slapped him across his face. She let go of his shirt abruptly, and he staggered back a step as he half-heartedly fought to escape her grasp.
“I…I…I’m sorry,” he said softly, pangs of guilt stabbing his heart.
“No, you aren’t,” Lois decided. “Unless you’re sorry that I survived.”
“No!” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I know you have no reason to believe me. But it’s true. I never meant for her to die. I never meant for you to be hurt.”
“No, of course not. You just meant for my parents to die, right?” She set her lips into a hard line, jutting her chin out, defying him to deny the accusation.
“It was my job,” he weakly defended himself.
“Maybe instead of killing innocent people, you should have killed your boss,” she said, rolling her eyes at his defense. Then, before he could respond, “You can hold whatever excuses you have. I’m not interested in hearing them.”
Clark racked his brain, trying to think of something – anything – he could say that would make this woman believe that he was sincere in his apology to her. He didn’t even know why it felt so important to him. But it was. For whatever reason, her hatred of him hurt him more than anything ever had. Bruce’s scorn he could endure. Lex’s dismissal of him and treatment of him as something less than human, something to be owned and enslaved had been depressing, but bearable. Knowing that the world would never know he existed had barely phased him. The fact that even his victims didn’t know he was present and responsible for their deaths, not even at the last possible second, had been a relief, not a burden.
But Lois’ rejection and outright, blazing hate? It broke what was left of Clark’s heart.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled humbly once again.
“Sorry you got caught,” she blazed. “You’re pathetic, you know that?” She shook her head. “I’ll be sitting front and center when the judge passes your sentence. And if it’s the death penalty, I’ll be the last person you see, sitting right in the front row, glad to see your final breath.”
She spun on her heel and stomped away, before he could think of anything else to say. For a long time, he watched the direction in which she’d gone, guilt twisting his soul and knotting his guts. He didn’t hope for Lois to return – he knew it was better for them both if she didn’t confront him again that night. But a part of him wished he could apologize for his involvement in her family’s deaths, and have her believe him. He didn’t want forgiveness. He knew what he’d done was completely unforgivable. He couldn’t fault her for hating him for causing that crash.
After a while, he retreated to his cot and stretched out on his stomach, folding his hands under his chin in thought. He’d always heard that confession was good for the soul. Wasn’t that the reason why religious folks sought out priests or rabbis or reverends or whatever titles their spiritual leaders boasted? To admit their sins and be told that their god or goddess or alien overlord understood and forgave them? It had always seemed like an absurd ritual to Clark. God or no God, shouldn’t a person confess their wrongdoing straight to the person or people it most directly affected? He’d done that, tonight, by telling Lois the truth. And yet, he didn’t feel relief. He didn’t feel unburdened. He didn’t feel the phantom blood on his hands lift away to make him squeaky clean once again. He still felt dirty. Still felt like the killer he was. Still felt the shame and guilt of his assassin’s career, orchestrated by Lex.
“Waste of my time,” he mumbled to himself. “She didn’t need to know.”
But she did and he knew it.
“What good did it do?” he asked himself in a whisper.
It’ll give her peace of mind, his inner voice told him in a baby-soft voice.
Peace? Pah! It’ll give her nightmares, to put a face and a limp excuse to the reason why her parents had to die.
“Did I expect redemption?” he continued, his voice low enough to barely be heard, not that anyone was around at this late hour.
I don’t deserve redemption.
***
“Good morning, sunshine,” Bruce sarcastically greeted Clark the next morning. “I heard Lois came to visit you during the night.”
Clark shrugged casually, not looking up from the paper Bruce had furnished him with the previous day. “Well, if you aren’t man enough to fill her nights, someone has to.” He turned the page and began to skim the headlines there.
“It seems you told her quite a lot, last night,” Bruce continued, ignoring the barb.
Clark rolled his eyes and closed the paper. He folded it in half and set it down, then turned to Bruce, his hands in his lap in a relaxed pose. He didn’t speak, giving Bruce the chance to guide the conversation. He was still too confused over the feelings Lois was giving him. On the one hand, he’d never desired anyone so strongly before. On the other, she infuriated him. But Bruce remained quiet, leaving Clark to fill the void.
“She’s got a big mouth, that one. Or don’t you already know that?” he offered bitingly.
“She said you willingly…or willingly enough…answered her questions about the crash that killed her family.”
“So?”
“So…why? All that bravado and bluster you’ve been giving off? Is it all an act?” he wondered aloud. “Or what?”
“Is that all you want to know? The details about my personality?” Clark asked, his eyebrow arched in mocking disbelief. “Not buying it.”
“Just wondering, that’s all. So, why did you give Lois the information she sought?”
“I told her I’d give her answers, in exchange for her talking to you about getting this collar off my neck,” he said pointedly.
Bruce nodded, unfazed. “She told me that you asked about that. And she told me that she denied your request.”
Clark growled in frustration. “What will it take to be free of this? Or,” he asked, boring his gaze into Bruce as if he could burn a hole through him down to his very soul, “are you going to use this thing to control me? To get me to do your bidding, just like my former master did?” He grinned a grim, evil smile at Bruce. “Oh, I know! You want me to go out and kill for you now, is that it? Send the flying assassin to take out the people you hate? Kill the people who pose a threat to you? Even the score with your elementary school bullies? What are you waiting for? Send me out, right now, and I’ll be forced to be your own, private vigilante. It always brought my master joy to see one of his rivals fall. Don’t deny it – you want to taste that same sweetness too.”
Bruce stormed over to the cage. “I’m not like your former master. I don’t kill people to get what I want.”
“No, of course not,” Clark said with an indifferent shrug. “You just wrongfully and illegally imprison people and keep collars full of poison around their necks.”
“I’m protecting people against a threat!”
“Tsk, tsk! What a temper,” Clark replied coolly, staying just beyond Bruce’s reach, should he stick his arm inside the bars. “Did Miss Lane pass that to you? What else has she…furnished you with?”
“Lois is a good woman,” Bruce said defensively. “A lot better person that you could ever dream of being.”
“Dreams are for the weak!” Clark spat, though, deep inside, he wished he had the luxury of dreaming about a life lived under his own command.
“And what? You’re strong? Because you kill people?” Bruce fired back.
“I’m strong because I’ve walked through hell and back and survived. Of all the things that could have destroyed me…I’m still here. Things that would make you shiver in the dark, cry for your mommy, and make you soil your boxers,” Clark taunted him. “My soul might be black as night, but my instinct to survive is as tough as they come.”
“Yes, such a thing to be proud of,” Bruce taunted back, stepping away from the bars once more. “Of all the lunatics I’ve ever come across…I’ve never once heard any of them boast about how evil they are. Except for the criminally insane. And, try as you might, you haven’t convinced me that you’re certifiable.”
“Oh?” Clark raised his eyebrow. “Deal with many crazy people, do you?”
“If only you knew,” Bruce snorted in dismissal. “You’re a sick, soulless ba…”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Clark warned. “We’ve established that my soul is tainted, but I do have one, you know.”
Bruce regarded him for a moment. “We’ll see about that. But, for now, let’s pretend you’re right and you do actually have a soul. After all, Lois told me that you claim to have tried to save her and her sister.” His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed. “Why?”
Clark chuckled. “Why, Bruce! You almost appear to be disappointed by that news! Got a bit of a dark side yourself, do you?”
“Just trying to understand why a man who prides himself on taking lives would stop to try and help the very people he’d just made a hit on.”
Bruce was trying to tease information out of him; Clark wasn’t naïve enough to miss that fact.
“Does it really matter?” Clark replied, sitting back down and leaning back in his chair as if he were the one in control of the situation. “What’s done is done. And I’m guessing she won’t be back after the things I told her.”
“You’re…intrigued by her, aren’t you?” Bruce asked, a hint of a smile curving the corners of his lips in a nearly invisible way.
“No,” Clark lied.
I’m not sure, his mind said.
“What she said about the rescue attempt?” Bruce continued. “Is that true?”
“Yeah, it is. So what?” he bristled, feeling like he was being forced into some intangible trap.
“Why? If your job was to make the kill, why did you try to help?”
“Why do you care so much? It’s clear you and Lois view me as not much more than an animal. For God’s sake, I haven’t even seen a single ray of sunlight in two months!” Clark exploded, leaping up out of his chair once again. He gripped the bars, pressing his face behind the rods of cold steel. “You make me out to be a villain, when I was just following orders so that my boss didn’t kill me instead. Now it’s almost like you want to find fault with the one good deed I’ve had the opportunity to do in ages!” He hurled the words at Bruce with all the force he had, each one of them barbed and tipped with poison that Clark only hoped would wound the billionaire.
“I never said I fault you for it,” Bruce responded calmly. “But I do want to understand. Lois does too.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Clark insisted, turning away from Bruce. “It only half worked. Her sister still died, didn’t she?” he mocked, but the mocking was born out of self-loathing, rather than directed at Bruce.
“It matters,” Bruce corrected. “To Lois, it matters.”
He wheeled back on his captor, seething with self-loathing that he poured into outright rage against Bruce. “I can’t see how! I killed her family! I followed my orders and killed Sam and Ellen Lane.” Clark looked up toward the ceiling, reliving that night once more in his mind. He chuckled darkly, a sound born out of how easily he’d made a mess of his life. “And I did it well. The doctor and his wife died. Anyone who came across the wreck or investigated it would rule it an accident. It’s not uncommon for tires to blow out. Nor is it rare for an overworked and tired driver to perhaps nod off at the wheel and swerve off the road, especially not if the wheels were compromised.”
“Sounds like you had it all planned out,” Bruce commented sarcastically.
“The daughters weren’t supposed to be a part of things,” Clark continued, his voice flinty. His fist tightened as he fought to control this volume and not scream out his frustration. But deep down, he kept seeing the injured women in his mind’s eye. He kept feeling the oppressive need to defy Lex’s orders to kill such beautiful, innocent creatures. “He told me to kill them anyway. But, I couldn’t. They had no part in the reason why my master wanted Sam and Ellen dead.”
“Your boss must have been terribly angry at you,” Bruce calmly prodded, pulling a chair over and sitting down.
“He didn’t know. I made sure he neither saw nor heard me attempt to contact 911,” Clark responded, puffing out his chest a little in pride that he’d managed to go against Lex’s command without putting himself in harm’s way. He knew he should have stopped talking long ago, but he was too entrapped in his own memories to shut his mouth.
“I see,” Bruce said thoughtfully. He leaned forward in his seat, just a little, to give the illusion of having great interest in Clark’s words.
“Not that it did any good,” Clark added after a moment’s reflection. He shook his head, disgusted with himself. “It didn’t save Miss Lane’s sister. And she doesn’t even believe that I tried to help.”
“It is important to you, that she believes your story?” He steepled his fingers as he continued to study Clark.
Clark stood and paced his tiny cell, feeling like Bruce had him under a microscope. He felt exposed in an intangible, indescribable, and very unsettling way. “No,” was his instinctive reply. “Yes,” he corrected a second later. “I don’t know,” he finally settled on.
Bruce arched his eyebrow. “Which is it?” he asked in a curious way.
“I…I’m not sure,” Clark admitted after a moment, pausing in mid-step. He looked sharply at Bruce. “I know what I look like. An inhuman monster who just flies around killing people. And I am. I’ve done what I was told to do for years now. I’ve hardly ever thought twice about what I was doing.” There was no pride in his voice, only emotionless truth. He shrugged, trying to play off his inner turmoil.
“I don’t revel in the kill. I don’t recoil in horror from what I’ve done. It’s as mundane a task as it is for you to open up the paper to read while sipping coffee and eating a Danish. But I’m not this inherently evil person. I guess…I guess I just wanted her to see that.” He made a pained face of disgust that he was baring his soul to his captor. “I don’t know why I’m even discussing this with you. Just…leave me alone. Unless you want to free me from this collar, I’ve got nothing else to say.” He made a show of sitting down on his cot, firmly putting the discussion at an end.
“So be it,” Bruce said dismissively, waving his hand as if dispelling a plume of smoke. Then he walked off, leaving Clark feeling more conflicted in his soul than ever before.
To Be Continued…
