Chapter 14
~§~
Clark woke when a bright shaft of sunlight slanted through the window and directly across his eyes. He lifted a hand trying to block the offending glare, the downy grip of deep sleep not easily loosened. It took a minute to realized that he wasn’t laying on his own lumpy pallet, and only a nanosecond after that to remember that he shouldn’t be alone.
But he was. He glanced at the expanse of empty bed next to him, then lifted his head to search the room. Gillian wasn’t anywhere in sight, and a quick check with his super-hearing indicated she wasn’t anywhere in the near vicinity. Frowning, he wondered if she’d headed straight for the clinic.
Despite his disappointment to find her gone instead of lying next to him, he felt no similar compulsion to jump out of bed. He stretched, enjoying the feel of cool linen against his bare skin. Every nerve felt electrified, as if until the past night, they hadn’t been fully operational. He smiled softly to himself. In his whole range of experiences, never had he imagined that something could feel as wonderful as making love, either physically or emotionally.
He had not known it was possible to get so close to someone, to know them in every way and expose yourself in turn so that nothing remained between you. As connected as he’d felt to Gillian only twenty four hours earlier, now he saw how deep their intimacy truly ran. The vulnerability and trust they’d shown each other humbled him. And it was only with that intimacy, with that absolute certainty that she knew him in every way that mattered, that he had finally been able to be with her in every sense of the word.
His mind played over the moments of the night, his stomach tightening as he recalled the touches and kisses, the need and the wondrous responses of both her body and his. He’d experienced pleasure before, but none so all encompassing, felt so deeply that it rocked him to his very core. Every sense had reveled in the woman who’d lain within his arms, and even now he could almost taste and feel her so sharp the memory remained.
Rolling his head slightly, he inhaled the cherry-almond fragrance of her hair lingering on the pillow. To his delight, his body responded almost instantly, and he wished that she hadn’t left him alone so soon. If she’d have been there, he doubted they’d have made it beyond her door for the rest of the day.
God, she was so beautiful, he mused. Beneath her practical volunteer’s clothes he’d discovered shapely curves and firm, young muscle, smooth skin and velvety heat. With a blush, he remembered how she’d guided him. Showed him the way and then joined the journey they’d finished together time and again. Light melding with dark, male and female, heaven meeting earth.
Waiting had been worth it, he determined as he turned to his side and gazed through the mosquito netting and out at the sky. Always with him had been the fear of finally surrendering his virginity to someone who didn’t truly know him, something that would have left him empty, grieving an irretrievable loss. Instead, he felt fuller than he ever had. Full of joy. Full of life. It had been his gift to give, and in waiting to do so, he’d received a bounty in return.
In truth, since knowing Lois, he’d imagined – hoped, he admitted to himself without the old bitterness – that she’d be his first. Instead of honey colored hair running through his fingers and lidded gray eyes locked onto his own, his dreams of making love for the first time had always contained dark brown silk and bottomless chocolate orbs.
But he’d followed a different path to a place he’d never imagined and found it no less sublime. Indeed, he wondered as he fingered the filmy netting hanging around him, the things he liked most about Gillian were those so nearly the opposite of Lois. Lois was dark and elegant, beautiful and sophisticated. Gillian was natural, forest and water and air. Lois was breathtaking, heart stopping. Gillian was lovely, gypsy and gossamer.
Seeing Lois for the first time had been like a body slam. Gillian had crept up behind him and enveloped him quietly. Gently.
Their difference extended beyond the physical, their very ways of handling the world around them a study in contrast. Lois’s strength was unyielding, while Gillian bent without breaking, an oak towering next to a willow. While Lois crusaded in a broad, sweeping way, Gillian endeavored steadily, making small ripples that spread infinitely to affect those whose lives she touched.
In many ways, Lois had been the perfect fit for him, her ways so different from his own that they complimented each other, two halves that made a complete whole. But with those differences came conflict and the perpetual battle of wills. Now, there was a warm contentment in being understood, in knowing without asking and acceptance without explanation.
Struggling, he pushed thoughts of Lois from his mind. He refused to let his memories of her intrude in any way on what he and Gillian had shared. He’d wanted it, and he cared about her too deeply to do that to her. She deserved all of him, not just the leftovers.
Flipping toward the room, his eyes glanced around her living space, comfortable with its second-hand furniture and funky fabrics and books and chotchkes. The makeshift pink calico shower curtain remained in the corner, a permanent addition to her home, he guessed with a grin, then held his breath. Her home.
A home he’d asked her to leave. Possibly to mean that they might never see each other again. After their night together, after what they’d become to each other, he no longer knew if he could accept that possibility. Their paths had merged and led forward as one. But to where?
Just the day prior he’d been trying to shape a life for himself, brushing gently against the prospects that such a life might include her. Now his urge to explore the future tugged more firmly, but to his great frustration, the form it might take seemed even more elusive.
When he tried to picture Gillian in another environment, in a bustling city like Metropolis, his mind slammed against a stubborn roadblock. The two images didn’t mesh. Only when he imagined her in Smallville did the picture feel right. But he had no desire to return to Smallville. It would simply be exchanging one remote village for another.
Even if he could come to imagine Gillian in the city, what kind of life could they have? Although he’d bypassed the problem in tiny San Pablo, there was no question in his mind that if and when he returned to the larger world, he’d once again have to resume a separate identity if he wanted any semblance of a normal life. That fact hadn’t changed, and as hard as it would be to resume the secrets and half-truths he’d used to get by, it was part of the burden he bore.
She’d have to be willing to bear that burden as well. Would she be able – and willing – to help him perpetuate the image of a man who lived a normal life while concealing an entire side of himself? Gillian didn’t lie, and she might not understand the necessity of a dual identity.
With a painful twisting in his stomach, he realized that with Gillian, he didn’t want that. Part of the magic between them, the bond, was his ability to be himself completely. The thought of hiding anything, even in the name of practicality, chilled him. How would her feelings for him change if he himself had to change?
His contentment of moments earlier started to fade, and he sat up abruptly. What he needed to do was to find Gillian and talk to her. So much had changed after the last night. Guessing her thoughts and feelings was pointless.
And too was the perplexing question of why she’d left without waking him when he himself was wont to linger. To discover more of her secrets in the light of day and to watch her face as she gasped his name again and again. With a chuckle, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for his pants. Just one night’s taste and he was ready to make up for the long years he’d waited, all in the course of a day or two.
A note lay on the table, offering explanation for her undesired absence.
Sam –
Left early with Jeff to Piendamó –
got word of some injuries.
Thought you might need the sleep.
No bus this time, I promise!
See you tonight.
G.
So that was why she’d left the warmth of their bed. Piendamó was another small village in the valley, many of its residents related in some way to various people in San Pablo. Gillian often treated villagers from Piendamó in San Pablo’s clinic, and of course she would make the trek to help if she could. He frowned, thinking of her injured ankle.
As he put on his shirt, he scrounged around for the wrist watch Gillian owned but never wore, leaving it instead to gather dust in a small basket placed on the kitchenette’s counter. With a blink of surprise, he saw that it was after noon. Had he slept that late or had he lain there thinking that long?
For a few minutes he thought of flying to Piendamó to meet her, then decided maybe she’d gone without him because she’d needed some space. As he was grappling with his reaction to this monumental change in their relationship, perhaps she, too, needed some time to mull over events and come to terms with her own feelings. They’d taken a huge step, and, like him, maybe she felt it necessary to look around to make sure she’d landed on firm ground.
Besides, his thoughts of late concerning the future and the accusations he’d hurled at Gillian about neglecting her family were working hard against his conscience. With no small amount of guilt, he tried to remember the last time he’d called home. It had been a month at least, and the last time had involved a terrible phone connection lasting all of five minutes.
His parents had been understanding that first time he’d called, soon after arriving in San Pablo, to tell them he needed some time away. After all, they were used to his wandering ways. What they hadn’t understood so readily was his need to cut himself off almost completely from all contact with the outside world ever since his return from Metropolis after Lois’s wedding.
But he’d needed to find a cave where he could lick his wounds, and caves didn’t come with newspapers and running updates from LNN. Such reminders of life beyond the Andes only fueled his guilt in not responding to every emergency. Also there was his fear of unintentionally hearing news of the blissfully wedded Luthors and their fabulous life together. He’d become a recluse of sorts, wrapping himself completely in his selfish need for time to heal, hoping that those who loved him most would understand and forgive.
Since he couldn’t fully explain his desire to keep himself insulated from the outside world to his befuddled parents, he’d used San Pablo’s remoteness as a handy excuse. The closest phone was in Silvia, the mail delivery sporadic at best. They had the address and phone number of the ICRC headquarters in Bogotá, ao he felt confident they could reach him in case of an emergency. He’d stopped calling home regularly, instead sending occasional letters that spoke of his continued good health and general activity. If his parents resented his elusiveness, they made no mention of it in the few letters he’d received, keeping their comments to the state of the crops and other nonsensical goings-on in Smallville. He suspected that maybe they understood him better than he’d given them credit for.
Deciding that it was far past time to give them a call and suddenly wanting very much to share some things with them, he washed his face and, after a quick stop at his shack to retrieve a new shirt, headed straight for the nearest phone some twenty miles away.
The damaging rains of the day prior had been replaced by blue sky, innocent and unapologetic about the havoc it had wreaked. Even the call of the birds out of the forest seemed to deny that anything other than peace had ever reigned in this little corner of the world. It all so much mirrored his internal state that he had to shake his head. He’d arrived in San Pablo in turmoil, but calm had settled over him, his spirit cleansed and renewed. Healed.
Inhaling deeply, he took in the bright colors and warm sunshine, thinking that somehow everything around him had become super-saturated. Every sense was heightened, and he couldn’t seem to remove the beaming smile that stretched across his face.
His good mood transferred to each person he passed as he headed down the road out of San Pablo, the waves and smiles returned to him especially exuberant. When he took off, flying slow and lazy up the mountain, he couldn’t help but notice how summer never seemed to leave this particular part of the world, the balmy seventy or so degrees brushing his skin lightly.
A flicker of disappointment threatened to dull his blissful mood when instead of his mother or father, the stiff voice of the answering-machine picked up the other end of the call. He squelched it, offering a bright hello and a promise to try calling back in a day or two with a heart-felt ‘I love you’ attached to the end. As he hung up, he consoled himself with the fact that the connection he’d achieved had been particularly bad anyway, full of static. Trying to have a real conversation would have just been annoying rather than enjoyable.
Still, he couldn’t push down the need to talk to someone who knew him, to share his newfound happiness and to hear a familiar voice. It was as if the last few days had acted like sunshine on a dormant seed, sending it sprouting and reaching out of the ground to breath fresh air. His past had been awakened, and he was finally strong enough to accept it with open arms.
Tapping his foot for a moment, he ran through his list of options, finely landing on the one person most like a second father to him. Thanking his alien parents for the gift of his deep and lasting memory, he pulled Perry White’s home phone number from his mental address book and punched the numbers, wincing when static distorted the ring on the other end of the line. As he waited, he tried to remember what day it was and if Perry would even be home, then recalled that for the retired chief, specific days had probably ceased to matter, much as they had to him.
“Hello?”
“Perry?” Clark said loudly, placing his hand over his exposed ear to block out any interfering noise.
“Clark? Is that you?”
Clark blinked, realizing that for nearly half a year, no one had called him ‘Clark’. For a second, he wondered if he’d actually forgotten his own name. Recovering quickly, he nodded his head. “Yeah, Chief. It’s me, Clark.”
“Clark! I...barely hear you,” Perry shouted back.
“Sorry. It’s the best connection I could get.” He gave the phone a sharp rap with his finger and the static lessened a bit. “Is that any better?”
“A little…you doing, son?” Perry’s voice boomed across the continents and oceans.
“Great. How’s retirement?” he asked, grinning broadly.
“Miserable. That’s why…came out of it,” he said, and Clark laughed. He never could picture Perry sitting in some tackle shop talking lures with weathered fishermen hours on end.
But before he could comment, Perry continued. “I’ve been trying…a hold of you the...few weeks. You’ve…pretty much lost...the world, there, son.”
Clark nodded to himself. Living in a cave, albeit a glorious one. “Yeah, well, I needed to get away...decide what I wanted to do next...”
“Listen, Clark, there’s something you…know. It’s…Planet. She’s back. Up and running.”
Clark hesitated a long minute, not expecting such information. The Planet was back up and running? The Daily Planet?
“Clark...still there?”
Perry startled him out of his shock. “Um, yeah. I’m here. Wow, that’s great Perry.”
“Fired up the presses...four weeks ago. Already circulation’s nearly doub...what it was...explosion.”
Clark ignored his annoyance at the disrupted line that kept cutting out some of Perry’s words and covering others with static, asking, “Luthor feel guilty about blowing it up in the first place?”
“It…Luthor. Franklin Stern decided he...broaden his portfolio a bit. Fronted...tire reconstruction,” Perry explained.
The name sounded vaguely familiar, and Clark struggled to remember where he’d heard it. Mostly, he wondered what had convinced Lex Luthor to sell the Planet in the first place. If Clark’s suspicions were correct, Luthor had destroyed the Planet intentionally, so why would he have been willing to see it rebuilt at all?
“I...know if you’d consid...ing back to work. We need...good reporter...work with...est investigative journalist.”
“Who’s that?” Clark shouted, trying to interpret Perry’s broken words. Something about working with the best investigative journalist. “You steal Thompkins away from the Star?”
“Thompkins? He’s…hack. Who else...think I’d call the best? I want to get…old...eam of Lane and Kent back on...beat.”
Clark blanched. The old team of Lane and Kent. “I thought Lois was working at LNN?”
“Decided the broadcast news...just not…style. Besides, didn’t take…convincing once she found…Planet was hiring again.”
“Perry, I don’t think it’s a good idea.” He didn’t know how aware Perry was about what had occurred between him and Lois, but he wasn’t about to walk into that nightmare situation. “There’s a lot that happened between me and Lois.”
“Now, son…know…have...differences. But you…professionals. The best…in…history…Planet.”
“Perry, you’re starting to break up,” he said, his frustration with the phone adding to the excruciating tension that had taken a hold of his shoulders and neck. “Listen, I appreciate you thinking of me, but I really think it’s a bad idea.”
“If…retirement, you two…put aside…and get on…putting out…paper.”
“Chief, I can’t work with her,” he explained, trying to keep calm. “I can’t see her everyday and know that she’s married to Lex Luthor.”
“You...me...didn’t...ow? She...marry....Luthor.”
“Yes, that’s what I said,” he repeated carefully, glancing around at the passers-by who’d slowed to gawk at him. “I can’t sit across from her and ignore the fact that she married Lex Luthor.”
“…investig...prison...”
“What? Perry, I couldn’t hear you,” he said, his own voice getting louder as if it might help Perry’s come through in complete sentences instead of fragments. “What about a prison?”
“…balcony…police tried…”
“Perry, say that again. Perry?”
“a…cide…”
“Did you say suicide? Perry, who committed suicide?” Clark’s heart pounded wildly, his frustration hitting a fever pitch as static filled the line.
“…Luth…body…”
“Luthor committed suicide?” he asked, desperate to understand. “Perry, say it again!”
“…dead. Lois…married…”
“Perry? Perry?” he screamed into the receiver. But the line had gone dead.
For a minute, he thought it was another earthquake. Then he realized it was only his own body shaking so violently, only his own world that was once again tilting out of control.
Luthor was dead. Lois wasn’t married anymore.
~§~
If the people passing by thought it odd that a large man sat beneath a telephone kiosk, the receiver clutched in his hand but way too far from his mouth to actually use, they made no mention of it. After all, they’d once seen a man fly.
to be continued…
