Clark didn’t move from his spot on the bed for a long time after Lois left. He didn’t think about what she’d said. He didn’t want to. Every fiber of his being was calling for him to kill Lex. A thousand scenarios whirled like dancers through his head in a macabre waltz.
Wrapping his hands around Lex’s scrawny throat until his eyes bulged from their sockets and his flesh went purple. Strangling him with one of his overly expensive ties. Throwing him off the balcony of Lex Tower. Slashing Lex’s throat with his hidden blade, the billionaire’s warm, sticky blood gushing over Clark’s hands like a baptism into his new life of freedom from his former master. Burning Lex with his heat vision until his flesh melted and sloughed off Lex’s body while his “brother” writhed in agony. Freezing him solid with his icy breath. Flying up into the stratosphere with Lex, higher and higher until the air was too thin for Lex’s fragile, human body to survive. Zooming Lex up into space so quickly that the vacuum of space caused the billionaire’s body to implode. Ripping off an arm or leg and letting him bleed out, soaking into the obscenely expensive carpets in Lex Tower. Punching a hole through the man’s chest with his fist and ripping out his still beating heart, only to crush it in his iron grip.
Clark grinned and let his imagination get as gory as it wanted to.
Using his incredible strength to snap Lex’s neck like a dry twig. Dunking the man in the harbor and then using his icy breath to freeze the man solid, bit by excruciating bit, so that the ice squeezed the life out of him as it crept up his body from his toes to his head. Grabbing that bald head and exerting just enough pressure to slowly and painfully crack and crush the bones of his skull. Methodically breaking every last bone in Lex’s body over the course of weeks or months, until his body could no longer hold out against the torture. Using his hidden blade to cut the man daily, and refusing to let the wound heal, until his former slave master bled out completely. Hanging him from the balcony of Lex Tower with the laces from his imported shoes. Flying with Lex fast enough to break the sound barrier, watching as the man’s internal organs burst and his body was shredded by the air molecules he was traveling through, leaving nothing but a spray of blood and microscopic pieces of flesh and bone to rain down over the land beneath them.
Each new scenario that popped into his mind fueled his need to kill Lex even further. He wouldn’t relish it, he knew. That wasn’t who he was. He was an experienced killer, but he had never once enjoyed his career. However, with Lex…was it possible that he might glean a glimmer of satisfaction from a job well – and likely bloodily – done? But…no. None of his progressively more twisted musings felt right. None of them felt like they were painful enough to even make a dent in repaying the decades of emotional, psychological, and physical abuse Lex had heaped on him. None of them came close to paying Lex back for all the lives he’d so effortlessly ordered cut short.
Clark frowned. It would only be too fitting if Lex himself were to be collared like an animal, tormented with the ever-present threat of death, and forced to do things that went against his very nature. But that would mean the multibillionaire would have to be allowed to live. And Clark wasn’t convinced that Lex deserved to draw so much as one more breath.
“Lois is wrong,” he whispered to himself. “There’s no justice in letting a person like Lex live. All he’ll do in jail is waste taxpayer dollars on appeal after appeal, all while living in some penthouse-style prison cell, getting his free ‘three hots and a cot,’ as Nigel once put it.”
But there was nothing he could do for the moment, locked up and bereft of the sunlight that would restore his powers and allow him to break free of his own tidy little prison. He sighed and let his eyes sweep over his new apartment. He had to admit – even if only in the confines of his heart – it wasn’t a bad upgrade from his exposed little cell. It had an open floor plan – really just one big space that served as a living room, bedroom, kitchen, and dining room – with the exception of one door that led to the bathroom.
The bathroom.
Clark smiled to himself.
Gone were the days of having to use the toilet in full view of anyone who happened by. Gone were the days of having to shower with an audience. He stood up and padded softly over to the bathroom, his curiosity getting the best of him. The door was slightly ajar and Clark gently pushed it open. He let out a low whistle as the door swung open. White and gray marble greeted him as the vanity came into view. He entered into the room and went to the sink. His fingers caressed the silver faucet knobs and he turned the tap on, just for a moment, as if needing to test it to make sure this was all really his. Then he turned his attention to the shower. Instead of the stark stall he’d been forced to use before, this bathroom had a shower in a bathtub. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It had been too long since he’d last been able to soak in a bathtub. He tried the water here too and found it also functional. He made a mental note to take a nice long bath later on, perhaps after his dinner was served.
A linen closet was built into the wall and he checked it, finding a small assortment of towels and a few basic necessities, like soap, shampoo, and conditioner. He checked the cabinet under the sink and found a bottle of bubble bath and a container of bath salts. He opened the container and took a sniff. Peppermint. It smelled like heaven to him. He checked the medicine cabinet. That was empty.
“They still don’t trust me with a razor,” he mused darkly, but unsurprised.
He shrugged. He could live without that simple luxury, especially when he’d been given this magnificent kingdom to call his own. No, it wasn’t on par with what Lex Tower had boasted, but here, prisoner though he still was, he’d never been forced to do anyone’s bidding and kill people. He left the bathroom and went back into his living room. Finding a light switch on the wall, he turned on the lights, then turned his attention to investigating the rest of the space. Right off the bat, he could see a bookshelf in the living room, with two or three dozen books lining the shelves. Clark could have cried at the sight. For too long, he’d been denied the simple pleasure of losing himself in a story. It had been his one method of escape while he’d been imprisoned in Lex Tower. But he didn’t investigate what titles he’d been supplied with. Not yet. There would be more than enough time for that. Instead, he turned his attention to his neat, tidy, tiny kitchen.
He went immediately to the cabinets and found them to be stocked with non-perishable food items – mostly snacks. It appeared he wasn’t going to be allowed to cook. There were no pots and pans. But he did have a tea kettle and a selection of tea bags, so there was at least that small concession to enjoy. And there was instant coffee. That wasn’t nearly as good as fresh ground beans in Clark’s opinion, but, over the months of having only instant to drink, it was more than good enough.
Likewise, the fridge was stocked with a few essentials too. Milk and cream for his hot beverages, some perishable fruits and vegetables, some blocks of pre-sliced cheese to go with the crackers he’d found in the cabinets, even a few cans of soda. The freezer was bare, save for a few lonely ice cubes in a plastic tray. He found no sharp utensils anywhere. The most he found was a couple of blunt butter knives.
They still don’t trust me not to take my own life, he thought to himself. He paused in mid-step as he left the kitchen area to investigate the closet. Would I even do it, if I had the opportunity?
The thought horrified him as much as it left him questioning his ability to end things, if push came to shove.
Could I kill myself?
The more he pondered the question, the more unsure of the answer he became. His life was so different as Bruce Wayne’s prisoner, as opposed to Lex’s. He was no longer being lied to, ordered around, threatened with death, and manipulated on a daily basis. But he still had the weight of his guilty conscious resting on his shoulders.
So many dead bodies, he thought with a mental sigh.
Perhaps it would be for the best if he died before he could be tried for his crimes. It would save a lot of time, by cutting straight to the inevitable death sentence he would receive, and at least he would die on his own terms. His life had never been his own, shouldn’t he exercise what little control he had over how and when he died? But, then again, if he lived, he could at least testify against Lex and make sure that, if the billionaire lived to see the inside of a courtroom, he would be firmly nailed to the wall for all the atrocities he’d ordered.
He shook his head. Why was he worried about something that was out of his control? He forced himself to resume walking across the apartment, to the closet near the bed. He opened the shutter-style doors and found several changes of shirts and pants hanging there, as well as a short chest of doors containing socks and underwear. He recognized the clothing. It was all stuff he’d been wearing, the entire duration of his captivity – things that had been taken from him over and over during his supervised showers to be washed and returned days later during another shower as his change of fresh clothing. His eyes lit upon a pair of slippers. Clark blinked in surprise. No longer would he be forced to wear his sneakers or go in just socks. It was a small measure of comfort, but it struck a deep chord with him just the same. If it weren’t for his collar, he’d feel almost like he was at home.
My collar and the bars on my apartment door, he mentally corrected himself.
He took the slippers over to the chair and put them on his feet, enjoying the plush luxury of them. As he sat there, he looked around his living space with a certain amount of satisfaction. He wasn’t a free man, but he could almost pretend he was, here in this small, private place of his own. He made a mental note to thank Bruce and Lois when he saw them again. Perhaps Bruce would even remove his collar if he asked nicely enough.
Yeah, and maybe he’ll let me fly off to go live alone in the Alps and escape from the criminal justice system, he thought sourly.
When dinner came, Clark wolfed it all down, his appetite stirred up by the change in his environment. That, and he was eager to be finished so he could to utilize his new bathroom by soaking in a hot tub of water. He selected a soft maroon T-shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, enjoying that he could exercise a certain amount of choice in what clothing he would be wearing form that moment on, instead of having Bruce’s men just hand him a stack of clothing. He grabbed a new pair of white socks and a pair of red plaid boxers and brought them to the bathroom. Then, as he ran the water and filled the tub – tossing in a handful of the peppermint bath salts – he went back into the living room and stood before the bookshelves. A random assortment of titles greeted him, both fiction and non-fiction alike. He ignored the non-fiction for the time being. He wanted to lose himself to a world of myth and legend, of hobbits destroying rings, of sword-swinging gladiators, of magic carpets, of pirate treasures – anything that didn’t resemble the real world as he knew it. He found a crisp new copy of Homer’s The Odyssey and selected it. He’d read it before, but it had been a few years ago, and it was as good a book as any. Besides, Greek mythology – most mythology in fact – had always fascinated him. He took it to the bathroom as well.
By then, the tub was quite full, so he shut the tap off and disrobed. There was a laundry shoot built into the wall next to the vanity, so he stuffed his clothing in. Taking the book in one hand, he stepped into the steaming water. A moan of pleasure escaped him as he let his body sink into the hot water. It felt so good, so relaxing, that he could almost forget for an instant how miserable it was to be a prisoner. He leaned back, enjoying the bath, then cracked open his book. It wasn’t long before he was lost to a world of heroes, vengeful gods, adventures at sea, and a man desperate to get home.
Home.
The thought made Clark pause and his heart ache. He’d never had a home. Not really. Sure, he’d lived in a massive mansion when he was younger and the elder Luthors had still been alive. And they had been good to him. Perhaps that had been a real home. But Clark wasn’t sure. Lex’s voice still hissed in his mind repeating all of the vile things he’d filled Clark’s head with all his life, leaving Clark conflicted. Had Lionel and Letitia ever really loved him? Or had it all been a publicity stunt, the way Lex had said it had been?
He shook his head. It didn’t matter. His parents had died more than twenty years ago. Their love – real or feigned – didn’t change anything. The home they had provided him was long gone.
And then, after that, his “home” had never truly been a home. It hadn’t been provided out of love. It hadn’t been a sanctuary where Clark could escape the evils of the world. It hadn’t been a place where love and support had flowed in abundance. It had been an elaborate – and plush – prison cell, where any freedom and care Clark had thought he had had been nothing more than a mirage. Even this apartment, as comfortable and homey as it was, was a jail.
“I’ll never be free,” Clark thought with a depressed sigh. “I’ll always live in a cage. Lex Tower. Here. In an actual prison facility. Even if I were to escape, I’d have to hide in isolation, which is nothing but a jail without the bars.” He sighed again. “I’ll never have a real home.” He looked at the book thoughtfully. “What must it be like, to have a place hold your heart so much that you spend a decade trying to get back there? To go through Hell and back to return to one specific place, because it’s there that your heart resides?” He shook his head sadly. “You know something, Odysseus? I envy you, even in your most harrowing moments. I would do anything for a home to love and fight for.”
He set the book down on the floor next to the tub, and noticed, for the first time, that the water had grown pretty cold. Reflexively, he went to use his heat vision to warm the water back up, but as he reached for his powers, he felt the all too devastating emptiness that sat where his powers had once been. It snapped him out of his bleak musings about the concept of home, dragging his depression over the subject to a different, but just as difficult, topic. Without his powers, he felt like half of himself was missing. Ever since he was a kid, his powers had been there - growing and developing, getting stronger by the day. Rarely had he ever been without them, and then only when he was recovering from Kryptonite exposure. And even then, they were quick to return under the sun’s powerful rays. Never had he been without them for more than a couple of days, at best, when he was first learning how to recover from the deadly green stone’s radiation. Being without them for so long made Clark feel lost and unsure about himself. For the most part, it was true that he was getting along well enough as a normal, powerless man. But in the times when he still instinctively reached for them for some menial task, he was suddenly slapped in the face with how incomplete he felt. Normal had never been normal for him. Normal was all wrong.
With another heavy sigh, he pulled the drain plug, then stood, turned the shower on, and rinsed off. He didn’t bother washing his hair. He’d already done that under the watchful eyes of Bruce’s men earlier that day. He dried off with a thick, soft dark blue towel, then dressed swiftly. Turning out the lights, he left the bathroom, book in hand.
Bruce was waiting for him at the small round dining table that stood just on the far side of the kitchen counter. In the center of the table, an insulated carafe of coffee stood, and a plate of bakery-made cookies. He gestured for Clark to sit. Warily, Clark went to the table, deposited his book to one side, then sat down as he’d been bidden.
“I hope you sprayed some air freshener in there,” Bruce quipped easily, gesturing to the bathroom. He looked at the book. “The Odyssey. Nice choice.”
“I’ve read it before,” Clark replied, feeling the need to prove that he was more educated than Bruce might think he was. “And I wasn’t…doing that,” he bristled defensively.
Bruce chuckled. “I know. I was joking.”
“I…oh,” Clark allowed. “I guess I’m not really used to that. Lex isn’t much of a jokester. I’m not even sure he has a sense of humor. At least, not a normal one.”
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “I guess you have a lot to learn, Clark.”
“Maybe,” Clark replied with a single, shallow nod of his own.
“And yet, you’ve learned a lot in your time with us,” Bruce continued, steepling his fingers and continuing to bob his head. “You’re almost a different man completely, from the one we captured and brought here.”
“I haven’t exactly had much choice.”
“Maybe not,” Bruce said, cracking a small smile, as though amused by Clark’s words.
“Speaking of…I guess I should thank you,” Clark said after a moment. “This apartment is…well…pretty great.”
Bruce reached for the carafe and poured them each a mug of strong-smelling coffee. Clark took his gratefully, fixed it with the creamer and sugar Bruce had taken out, and then cradled the hot mug in both hands on the table. Bruce fixed his own cup, then sat back and regarded Clark for a moment before speaking.
“You’ve earned it,” he said finally, after Clark was certain the man wasn’t going to respond at all.
“Lois said the same thing,” Clark replied softly.
Bruce nodded. “Can I be frank with you?”
Clark chuckled without mirth. “You mean you haven’t been so far?”
“I need your help.”
The rest of Clark’s retort died on his tongue. “Um…what?”
“Lois and I are building a case against your former master,” Bruce continued, elaborating. “But we need your testimonial to place the final nails in it.”
“You mean, you want to parade me before a courtroom,” Clark nearly spat defensively. “Then, when you’re all done with Lex, it gets to be my turn, right? My turn to be put on trial and all my misdeeds laid bare for a jury to decide what to do with me. Life in a jail cell or an execution people around the world will cheer for.”
“Don’t you want to see him get his just desserts?” Bruce asked calmly.
“More than you can imagine. However, a country club jail isn’t justice,” Clark tossed back with a restrained sneer. He leaned forward and grinned dangerously at Bruce. “The same kind of posh prison you’ll be seeing, after word gets out that you unlawfully kept me imprisoned for…oh…it had to be what? Close to six months now?” He casually took a sip of his coffee. “My, my, my! What a lovely couple of presidential candidates the American people have to choose from! A sociopath with a super assassin or a vigilante who locks people up without due process.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t hear the rest of what I was going to say.”
Clark shrugged and sipped his coffee. “Does it matter?”
“I know people in law enforcement. Lois does too. Between the two of us, we should be able to get a good deal for you.”
“Ah yes, how much better to be locked up for life rather than just be killed outright,” Clark snorted. “Hard pass.”
“I was actually thinking along the lines of a reduced sentence, if not immunity,” Bruce replied. He spread his hands, palms upward. “Of course, if you rather not work with me…”
The implication hung in the air, unvoiced.
“Why should I trust you?” Clark asked venomously.
“What do you have to lose?” Bruce countered, calmly sipping his drink.
“Even if I help you…even if you got immunity for me…what then?” Clark asked, a sharp edge to his voice. “It’s not like I’ll be free to walk the streets. Everyone will know me. Everyone will know that I’m…not like them. That I’m a killer. And they’d be right.”
“People can change,” Bruce offered simply. “You have. As I said before, you aren’t the same man you were when you got here. If you were to be given your freedom, you wouldn’t return to your old ways. You wouldn’t keep killing.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Bruce,” Clark said gravely. “I would absolutely make one, final kill. Nothing in this world would stop me from killing Lex.”
“I don’t believe you,” Bruce replied, unmoved.
“Then you’re a bigger fool than I pegged you to be,” Clark shot back, his words coming out in a low growl.
“You’d throw away your one chance to live a normal life?” Bruce snorted in disbelief. “I doubt that very much. Just…consider my offer. Lois and I have enough to connect Lex to a hefty amount of crime, with or without you. But if you testify against him, there’s not a force in Heaven or on Earth that will allow him to escape justice.”
“And what of the forces of Hell?” Clark asked smugly. “Because that’s what we’re dealing with here, Bruce.”
“Maybe,” the other man allowed. “Think about my offer,” he repeated.
He stood up and went around the table to where Clark sat. Clark shifted uneasily in his seat at the close proximity to a man who he still considered to mostly be his enemy. Bruce reached into his pocket and Clark reflexively winced. This was it. Bruce was going for the remote control that was connected to his collar. He would torture Clark into agreeing to go along with his insane plan.
“As a gesture of my sincerity, here,” Bruce said as the remote left his pocket.
Clark shut his eyes as the billionaire pressed one of the buttons, anticipating the painful assault the Kryptonite would bring as the vents in his collar opened. The pain did come, but it lasted only seconds before it disappeared again. Clark’s eyes popped open in surprise and confusion. Then, suddenly, he was aware of a new sensation.
His hands flew to his neck where the collar was located and his fingers met flesh for the first time in a decade, rather than the cool metal band. He felt different, now that the slight physical weight of the collar was gone. He looked to Bruce, who was straightening up as he picked the collar up off the floor and checking to make certain that the metal ring was tightly locked into one continuous circle. What Clark had thought was the vents opening had been the collar itself, unlocked for the first time in years. When Bruce had closed the circle once more, the Kryptonite had been safely tucked away behind the metal, shielding Clark from its deadly influence once more.
He rubbed his neck in awe that the collar was gone. He was at a loss for words. What could he possibly say to Bruce? A mere “thank you” wouldn’t suffice. And what if this was part of some kind of elaborate ruse Bruce was setting up, meant to lure Clark into a false sense of security and even into agreeing to go along with Bruce’s request to testify against Lex?
“How does that feel?” Bruce asked, the collar gripped loosely in one hand.
“I…I…” Clark stammered. He swallowed against his surging emotions, mastering his words before he spoke again. “It feels…incredible. But, uh…why? After all this time, why now? Do you think this will buy you my loyalty?”
“No,” Bruce said with a light shake of his head. “In fact, I expect that it will make you more suspicious of me than ever.”
“Then…why?” Clark asked, half fearing the answer.
“Because, after all of this, despite the things you’ve done…you’ve earned at least this much. I’m not saying you should trust me. And I’m not even sure I trust you yet. But…you’re right. All the things that you’ve said about living in fear of having someone out there with a remote that can end your life at any moment…you’re right. It’s no way to live, not even for someone with as much blood on their hands as you.”
“Gee, Bruce, that was really touching,” Clark smirked, a sarcastic hand to his heart. “You know, you should give a speech like that at one of your debates. You’ll really win over the hearts of the voters.”
“I can put this back on,” Bruce deadpanned, holding the collar out slightly toward Clark.
Clark shrank away, despite himself.
“I thought so,” Bruce replied tonelessly. Then he gestured to the unfinished coffee. “Drink up. And think about what I’ve said.”
Then he turned and let himself out of Clark’s apartment.
To Be Continued…
