Clark paced his cell with a relentlessness that matched his racing thoughts. He needed to get out, to be free, to bask in some sunlight and have his powers restored. He needed more room to move around than the cramped cell he was caged in. He would have even considered a cell twice the size to be a palace by comparison. Or, barring that, more mental stimulation would have been invaluable. A jigsaw puzzle. Some books to read. Art supplies, though he’d never been interested in drawing or painting before, but at least it would have given him something to do. Even just a rubber handball to bounce off the floor would have been welcome. But he was given no such things.
He’d wanted to bring up the point with Bruce, but after he’d admitted to his part in both killing Lois’ family and trying to save her in the same night, Bruce did not return, nor did Lois. The old routine of isolation returned, with Clark’s only human interactions being when he was served meals or forced to shower before the hard, hate-filled eyes of a guard who securitized his every movement. He found himself wondering if he’d done something wrong. And then he’d immediately remind himself that his entire life had consisted of doing things that were wrong. This time, he didn’t try to speak much to his guards, unless he truly needed something. He knew it would be a wasted effort. They would no more speak to him now than they had during Clark’s first period of isolation. He wasn’t going to spare a breath for those who would ignore him. So he let his voice rust away, unused.
And yet, for all that period of isolation felt like the first one, there were marked differences. Clark was now given a copy of The Daily Planet each morning with his breakfast. He savored each word of that paper, reading them as slowly as he could, to really let each letter sink in. Often, he would read the paper again in the evening, to stave off boredom. And as he poured over the newsprint a second time, he would stop and wonder – what had he done, to be gifted something so precious as the news? Bruce or Lois could have ordered him to be given anything else to read – non-fiction books about the most tedious and mundane of subjects, science-fiction books of literally no consequence to him, comic cooks to fill his head with tales of heroes with godlike abilities, which, of course, made him chuckle a private laugh to himself.
But no.
He was being given the news.
And not just any news. The Daily Planet, of all the papers out there.
It felt very deliberate to him.
Lois worked for the Daily Planet. Was she trying to prove how much better she was than him? Was she trying to tell him something? Each day, he studiously scrutinized every article in the paper, expecting to see some kind of deliberate message to him. But nothing was ever highlighted. Nothing was ever circled or starred for him to pay special attention to. No pages were ever dog-eared to direct him to any specific page or article. No sticky notes ever accompanied the paper demanding that he “check out the article on page 3!” Nothing was ever out of the ordinary. It was simply a crisp, new, unmarked newspaper every single day.
No one even bothered to take any of the sections out of it either. He was being given an unedited source of news. He could read about a carjacking if he chose to, or he could skip to see how his favorite sports teams were faring, or he could read the critics’ reviews of brand-new movies he knew he would likely never see.
It baffled him and made his mind consider as many real or imagined scenarios as it cold possibly concoct.
Was he being given the paper because he’d mentioned how Lex had forbade him from being exposed to the news? Was Bruce trying to fill in the gaps in Clark’s societal knowledge? Was he trying to set himself apart from Clark’s former jailor? Was he doing it to gain Clark’s trust? Was he trying to make a subtle point with all the articles detailing every day, average Joe heroes and tales of evildoers being brought to justice? Or was he…just being nice?
The first time that thought crossed Clark’s mind, it froze him dead in his tracks. Why would Bruce…or Lois, for that matter, want to be nice to him? He’d been rude, crude, and downright mean to them both. Sure, he’d told Lois that he’d tried to save her and her sister, but there was no way that could account for the simple act of kindness that he shown him in giving him the mental stimulation of having something to read. No, it couldn’t be that. No one had ever been nice to him in his whole life. Even Lionel and Letitia Luthor hadn’t been kind to him…had they?
Clark had to admit to himself that his memories of those early years were muddled and murky. He remembered that they were kind, caring, sincere people, but he also remembered only too well the things Lex had told him. How they’d pitied the orphaned space child they’d found. How he’d been nothing more than an act of charity, a prop to use so the world would love the Luthor family even more, how he’d been a stand-in for the daughter they’d lost, but never really loved the way she’d been. He remembered Lex telling him to confide in him, that he would always keep Clark safe and be honest with him.
Had Lionel and Letitia’s affection all been lies?
Or had Lex been grooming him, even at that early age, for the role he’d wanted Clark to play – as an obedient servant trusting only in his “older brother?”
“No,” he said to himself, his voice soft as a baby’s sigh. “No. He took care of me. He told me the truth. He kept me safe.”
I’ll make sure the police never find you, he heard Lex tell him after the fire had claimed the lives of their parents. Clark remembered how silky smooth and detached his brother’s voice had been. You’ll need to stay hidden, but you’ll be safe. An involuntary shudder ran down Clark’s spine. Stick with me.
“He did what he had to do,” he tried to convince himself, but his conviction was lacking.
He despises you and you know it! his mind hissed in a cold, reptilian voice. He fears your powers. That’s why he collared you. He has no respect for you. How often has he insulted you?
You’re weak! he heard Lex roar in disgust.
“No…”
You’re an idiot! Lex snapped a second later.
“I’m not…”
You’re useless! Worse than useless! A burden!
“I…” he stammered, his mouth going dry.
You see? Clark’s inner voice cooed at him victoriously.
Clark was desperate for it not to be true. “But…he…tried to keep me safe when I was younger…
No, fool. He put you into his debt and made you do despicable things to pay it off. Only, you never could pay it off, could you?
Stick with me.
Clark felt dizzy as the information swirled in his head like a whirlpool. The world turned upside down and he was thrown off balance. Blindly, he put the paper down and backed away from the cramped desk, knocking the chair over in his disoriented scrambling. Bile rose in his throat and his stomach churned violently. He staggered his way across the tiny cell and heaved into the toilet, the entire contents of his breakfast ripping up his throat to splatter the inside of the toilet bowl. Every time Clark thought he was done, more vomit miraculously bubbled up in his throat. He retched until his ribs, diaphragm, and stomach ached from the effort. When he was done, he stuck his entire head into his tiny sink and rinsed his mouth until he could no longer taste that vile, acidic vomit. Tears stung his eyes from how hard he’d been getting sick, so he splashed some of the cool, clean water onto his face as well. Finally feeling almost normal again, he flushed away the evidence of his revelation.
“He used me,” he croaked into a harsh, agonized whisper. He shook his head. “My whole life has been a setup.”
He’d known that Lex had been using him for years, ever since his powers had set him apart as a perfect assassin. But to realize that his supposed brother had been twisting him since practically his babyhood was a wound too deep for Clark to bear. He roared out his frustration to the empty cell around him.
“I never had a chance!”
The guards down the hall glanced in his direction as Clark flung himself against the bars, over and over in a futile effort to break free. He knew the effort was wasted, but he couldn’t help it. He had to try. He had to get back to the sunlight. He had to recharge his missing powers and fill the void in his soul that their absence had created. He had to feel like a complete person again. And, when all of that was in place, he knew who his next and final assassination target would be.
“He’s a dead man,” he growled under his breath as he grabbed the bars and tried to shake them loose. “His death will not look like an accident. For the first time, I will be happy to torment my victim before slashing his throat. I will revel in his hot blood washing over me as the light in his eyes dims and snuffs out completely.”
He let go of the bars and banged on them with the palms of his hands until they stung with pain and began to go numb. “Let me out of here!” he roared, his voice echoing off the bare walls and high ceiling. “I’m gonna kill him!”
Of course, there was part of him, way in the back of his mind, that acknowledged how it would look to everyone else. They would think this isolation had finally broken his mind. They would nod sadly, but knowingly, to themselves about the savage, inhuman creature inside that cage. They would shrink away from his words, thinking he was out for Bruce’s blood.
“Let me go!”
***
It took days for Clark’s boiling rage to calm enough for him to start thinking rationally. For once, he was glad to be alone. It gave him time to think, to process everything that had happened in his life; all the flat out lies and partial truths that had made up his world. He wasn’t even sure what emotion he felt the most – the abject misery in knowing his life had never been his own, the deep sense of betrayal Lex’s actions had caused, the blistering anger, the intense need to kill Lex for what he’d done, the profound sadness and loneliness that went soul-deep as he realized he’d never once had anyone in his life been on his side. He wasn’t sure what to make of his ever-changing emotions either. Hardening himself to making kill after kill had left him with precious little desire to stop and examine his feelings; in a way, he felt emotionally stunted. It was odd for him to feel one way in one breath, then feel another in the next breath.
He tried to steel himself against what he was feeling. He tried to force it out of his mind. But he couldn’t. He was nothing more than a broken tree branch in a flood, tumbling through his emotions, bumping harshly against what he knew in his heart were truths, nearly drowning in his own thoughts, powerless to control the way he was spinning through it all, powerless to stop and grab hold of a rock to gather his strength, even for just a moment’s breath. And when the waters finally receded, he found himself bruised, battered, more broken than before, filthy from his journey, but still standing with a new resolve.
When Lois finally appeared at his cell, he felt almost like he was a new person. Certainly, he had a new resolve and fresh perspective on things. He was ready for them, ready for their questions, ready to test them.
“You lied to me,” Lois accused him, without greeting him in any way.
Startled, Clark looked up from his paper. “What?” he asked, taken a little off guard. Silently, he cursed his missing powers. If he’d had them, he would have heard her coming a mile off.
“You lied to me,” she repeated crossly.
Clark scanned his brain, trying to figure out what she was referring to. “I beg your pardon,” he huffed. “I might be many things, but a liar is not one of them.” He set down the paper, crossed his arms, and put his feet up on the desk in a relaxed way.
“I told you who I was,” Lois continued. “I thought you’d extend the same courtesy to me. I guess I shouldn’t have expected a murderer to tell the truth.”
Clark rolled his eyes. “What are you blabbering on about?”
“Clark Kent. That’s the name you gave to me, yes?”
He nodded confidently, but slowly, trying to figure out her train of thought. “Yes.”
“There’s no such person. I checked. I ran that name through every database I could think of. There’s no such person as Clark Kent.” She folded her arms, triumphantly.
Clark chuckled. “So, just because you can’t find anything connected to that name – no social security card, no credit cards, no bank accounts, no outstanding parking tickets – that must make me a liar, is that right?” He arched an eyebrow at her, daring her to respond. “I told you, that was the label I was slapped with, it wasn’t the name I was given at birth.”
“I found no records of any name changes either,” she retorted.
“Miss Lane,” Clark said teasingly, “I have spent my whole life living outside the law. Why would you assume I’ve done anything legally, including a name change? Or, might I say, especially a name change. I’m an assassin. Why would I ever want to leave a paper trail behind?”
She shrugged easily. “I had to try. Just in case you were as dumb as you look.”
“Oh, ouch,” Clark winced sarcastically, holding his hand to his heart as if wounded. “Now you’ve gone and done it. Cut me straight to the core.”
“Quit playing mind games,” Lois snapped irritably. “What was your name, before it was Clark Kent?”
“You know what? I’m rather bored in this tiny cell. A game sounds like an excellent idea,” he replied, his eyes gleaming bright. He hopped up out of his seat and went to the bars. “I’ll give you a hint. I already told you my name was once Kal. As for my last name? Well, you already know that. Everyone knows that.”
“I swear…if you don’t give me some straight answers,” Lois threatened, leaving the consequences unvoiced.
“Think, Miss Lane,” he interrupted. “Use those rich reporter’s instincts. Newspapers don’t grow to be empires without good reporters. I’ve read your articles, you know. In these papers, which Bruce has so generously had delivered with my morning meals. You’re good, Miss Lane. Even I have to admit that. You must be proud of your success. Like you’re on top of the world even. So, figuring out my former last name should be a cinch for you.”
“You’re talking gibberish,” she snarled back in annoyance.
“I’m speaking the truth,” he corrected gently.
“Just tell me who you are!”
“I’ve given you more hints that you deserve,” he said with a grin. “Think about what I’ve said. It should be an easy enough puzzle for you to solve.”
“I don’t have time for this,” she huffed.
“You know my name. You’ve probably lusted after that name since you first cut your teeth on some puff piece article,” he goaded her. “Not mine specifically, of course. But my family’s name. And yet, it’s always remained, just out of reach, hasn’t it? Too elusive for even the great Lois Lane to snag. Go,” he said, making a shooing motion with his hands. “Come back when you’ve figured it out. Not that it means much to you, but…I promise, if you’ve gotten it right, I’ll let you know.”
She shook her head in disbelief, but she backed up a couple of steps.
“Oh, and Miss Lane? Lois? When you return, would it be possible for me to get a pen? I’d like to do the puzzles in the newspaper.”
As she left, he settled down in his chair and watched her go, feeling a certain satisfaction in making her work for the answers he was providing. And he wondered how long it would take Lois to figure out his clues.
***
Calvin and Hobbs were getting into another round of mischief when Clark heard Lois coming down the hall. He pulled his attention from the paper, listening to her approach, but he did not look up. It seemed the safer option than engaging Lois, if her brisk and heavy-footed, nearly stomping pace were any indicator of her mood. Each click of her heels on the concrete floor echoed like gunshots.
Still, he had to admit that he was a little impressed. It appeared Lois was swifter on the uptake than he’d imagined she’d be. She hadn’t even been gone an hour, he reckoned. He waited until she was nearly at his cell before he looked up and acknowledged that she was there. A look of determination and unhappiness was scrunched up on her face.
“Luthor,” she spat.
“What about it?” he baited her.
“Kal Luthor. That’s who you really are, isn’t it?”
“It was who I was, a long time ago,” he snapped in confession, loathing to hear that name again. “But, very good! I thought it would take you much longer to piece things together.”
“I knew before I left you,” she nearly purred as she sauntered ever closer.
A lump rose in Clark’s throat as he once more realized how much he desired her. “Oh?” he squeaked out. He cleared his throat to regain his composure. “Then why didn’t you say anything?” he taunted.
She gave him a smug look. “A good reporter always checks her facts first. You’re lying to me, again.” Her eyes narrowed dangerously, daring him to argue with her assessment.
Clark jutted his chin out in defiance. “Why would I be lying?”
She turned in a circle, hands up in a half shrug as if gesturing to the world around them. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you think that you’re impressing me. Maybe you think that by lying and pretending to be someone important, you’re saving your worthless hide. I don’t know and I don’t care.”
“I’m not lying to you,” he said, trying to bite back some of the anger that rose in his chest, speaking the words through gritted teeth.
“Yes, you are!” she yelled.
“How are you so sure?” he growled in a dull roar, forgetting, for a moment, that he wanted to keep his temper in check.
“Because Kal Luthor is dead!”
Her words brought the world to a screeching halt for Clark. Without a conscious decision to do so, he brought his hand to his forehead. How could he be so stupid? Of course, Lois would investigate his claim! And of course, she would discover that Kal Luthor had supposedly died at a young age.
“He died in a fire, which also claimed the lives of Lionel and Letitia Luthor, and destroyed their home. Only the older son, Lex, survived.” She crossed her eyes and fixed him with a self-satisfied look.
“I never died,” Clark said in a quiet voice, all the horror and terror of that night rushing back to him.
“I have the news reports that say otherwise,” Lois retorted with a snort of disgust.
“They were wrong. I was too young to question it when it happened,” Clark continued, mentally questioning why he was telling her so much. “Lex…he said…oh, God, what he told me.” He looked away as an involuntary shudder took him.
“What did he tell you?” she prodded him in a soft tone, trying to draw out information. He could tell she didn’t believe a word of what he was saying but was trying to get at the truth.
“He said I was responsible for the fire. We’d been playing catch. A candle got knocked over. He told me to run, that he would take care of things. I guess the fire spread too quickly. It already was, when I left.”
“Nice try, but they found Kal’s body.” She put her hands on her hips and shook her head.
“It wasn’t mine. I guess Lex or one of his friends did it. He was trying to protect me.”
“Protect you? That’s a good one,” Lois countered.
“The police determined that the fire was intentional. They wanted me for murder. Lex must have planted false evidence for them to find. He changed my name, kept me under the radar. He said if anyone knew I was still alive…” He was babbling and he knew it. With an effort, he clamped his mouth shut.
“You really do have quite the active, lying imagination, don’t you?” she accused, almost in amusement. “The records proved it was Kal.”
“Don’t be stupid!” he shot at her, his distress taking over, though he regretted his choice in words later. “Records can be falsified! Lex isn’t exactly a pauper, you know!”
“Lex wouldn’t do something like that,” she said in an eerily calm voice. “He’s…a good man, a philanthropist, one of the few billionaires who’s given as much as he has to charities.”
“He’s also the one who ordered me to kill your parents!” Clark roared in frustration.
Too late, he realized his mistake. He’d never meant to give away that information so easily. He’d planned on making Bruce and Lois earn any information he’d give them.
Lois looked like he’d slapped her with a piece of ice. Her mouth moved without issuing forth any sound. Her eyes bulged in shock. The color drained from her face. She looked frozen in time, like a broken robot forever damned to loop her repetitive movements over and over again. But, eventually, she seemed to break free of the spell that had entrapped her.
“Liar!” she accused, but it sounded more like it was born out of habit, not because she didn’t believe him. “Liar!”
Clark spread his hands helplessly, allowing his shame to burn his cheeks, neck, and ears red with embarrassment. “I wish I was.”
“Why? Why would he do that? My parents worked for him. They saved his life! Why?” Her voice was strangled in horror and grief.
“Oh, now you believe me? Piss off,” he dismissed her, hoping against hope that she would leave him alone, but knowing it would make her hound him for information all the harder. “I’m a liar, remember?”
“I didn’t say I believe you,” she threw back at him, but her voice belied her words. “I’m just curious as to what excuse you’ve got.”
“Now who’s the liar, Lois? Hmmm?”
She didn’t even flinch at the use of her first name, the way he’d envisioned she would.
“Just answer the question, you piece of sh…”
“Sure, go ahead. Make your threats,” he interrupted smoothly.
“I didn’t make any threats,” she replied smugly.
“Oh, weren’t you about to? Threaten to go running to dear Brucie? Tell him the mean assassin isn’t sharing his knowledge? Bring out that rock to cripple me into submission?”
“No.”
That single word was a gunshot, tearing through the bitter, sarcastic response he had brewing in his throat.
“Yeah, right,” he said instead, trying to save face and maintain his tough exterior. He wasn’t comfortable showing anything other than a stony façade. He didn’t understand how people could regularly show vulnerability to others.
“I’m serious,” she maintained. She sighed, and Clark thought it sounded tired and wounded. “Just tell me why Lex Luthor would want to kill the only two people who were willing to help him. And I’ll put in a good word about you to Bruce.”
He eyed her suspiciously. “And just why would you do that?”
“Because I want answers,” she said firmly. “My parents are dead, can’t you understand that? My sister is dead. I deserve to know why that is!”
Clark raked a hand through his hair as he formulated his response. “You wouldn’t believe me, even if I told you,” he finally whispered. His head drooped and his gaze went to the floor.
Lois stepped up to his cell bars and reached inside, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look at her. But her touch wasn’t rough or demanding. It was firm and let him know that she was in charge, but it was almost encouraging in a way. Clark felt a piece of his blackened soul and frozen heart thaw just the slightest bit. He was powerless under her touch, and he found himself gulping hard and taking a deep breath.
“Because,” he offered up slowly, like a man stuck in a dream, “he didn’t like what the treatment did to him.”
“It cured his cancer,” Lois said, not letting go, leveling him with her unrelenting gaze.
“It left him bald,” Clark corrected her.
Lois’ brow scrunched up in confusion, anger, and an unwillingness to accept the truth. “My family died…because he lost his hair?” she asked, and Clark heard the wobble in her voice as she sought to maintain a neutral tone.
“He…” Clark paused, gulping again as his mouth went dry as the Sahara at the sensation of her flesh on his own. He licked his lips, trying to moisten them. “Whatever mask he may wear in the public’s eye, he’s a vain man. Losing his hair made him…insecure, I think. He said it would hurt his chances as a presidential candidate. I tried to persuade him otherwise.”
“My parents…they would have informed him of any side effects…” she replied numbly, dazed, and letting her statement go unfinished.
“They did,” Clark confirmed. “But try explaining that to Lex.”
She withdrew her hand then, and Clark’s skin felt aflame where she’d touched him, but cold and lonely at the same time. His heart was hammering so hard it was a wonder it didn’t pop right out of his chest to sputter and spasm on the floor. His head was swimming, the way he’d heard drunkenness be described as. His knees were weak, but pleasantly so, not at all like the degrading weakness Kryptonite caused.
“You don’t believe me,” he gently accused when she continued to simply stare at him like he’d suddenly sprouted another head.
“I’m…not sure,” she shakily admitted as she backed away from him. She didn’t stop until she was well away from his cage. Then she turned and almost ran from the area, leaving Clark wondering if she would ever trust that he was telling the truth.
To Be Continued…
