To Charlie, the name was as clear as a bell. Not for the first time he'd heard something very audible that he shouldn't have. Of course, that wasn't the only thing that was strange about him.
Strange, that was an understatement, Charlie thought. Strange was a man who liked to talk to himself in public. The weird things about him were downright unbelievable. No man he'd ever met could cause a fire with his eyes! Incredibly frustrated one morning after he'd broken his fifth razor, Charlie had gotten angry. Why was his hair so coarse that it broke razors?! What was he? Some kind of freak?! He'd glared at the mirror, at the man he didn't know, and was horrified when a light bounced back at him. He'd jumped in shock, his heart pounding against his chest. It was sometime later before he realized that beam had cinged the hairs of his beard. After calming down, and several pep talks, he concentrated his stare on the mirror again. Once more the light was produced and it seared his facial hair. With a little practice, Charlie had learned to trim his beard... with his eyes!
For days after that Charlie had walked around completely mystified. How was he able to do such a thing? Over and over he could produce the steady beam of heat when he concentrated. He'd wondered if all of his senses were unusual, so he'd decided to try doing the same thing with his hearing. That's how he found out some his fellow sailors were lovers. That had been quite embarrassing!
There was more. He'd learned that he could speed read, although about the only thing he read anymore was pointless dribble. He liked fiction novels and chose to stay as far away from the news as possible, though he had yet to discover the reason for his aversion. Then there was the speed in which he carved his statues. More than once he'd found his hands moving at impossible speeds. The masterpieces produced during that time were simply out of this world. He couldn't believe it himself. Yet, it was all true. He was some kind of walking, talking, breathing freak. Normal enough to outside appearances, no one would ever suspect him of being more than an ordinary guy.
But he wasn't ordinary. Ordinary guys couldn't do those things. Charlie had been plunged into a deep depression for a while as he tried to make sense of it all. He'd even read briefly of another who possessed some strange abilities like his. Superman, the flying hero who'd disappeared without explanation, had been just as unusual. Charlie had briefly wondered if there was a connection between him and the incredible caped man. He'd decided there was no possible way there was link, partly because there was no way he was going to see if he was bulletproof and partly because of his desire to just remain Charlie King, a simple sailor without a past. Why did he feel that way?
He didn’t know. He didn’t want to know. He liked his life just as it was. When the hard questions came, he didn’t press too hard to find the answers.
And for reasons beyond him, he was hard pressed to stay so maudlin. It seemed his natural personality was good hearted and light. He enjoyed people and helping others. He respected the world around him and used it wisely. So, he decided that if the only way to trim his beard was to use his strange vision gizmo, that's what he'd do. He'd use his hearing to appreciate the sounds around him and his speed was put to good use carving him a living. He didn't know why he could do the things he could do and he'd stopped trying to figure it out. As long as he didn't grow two heads or fly away, he could handle the things he didn't know. When he hadn't developed any more strange abilities, he figured he was all right. He was no Superman, that was for sure. From what he’d heard about him, that man’s selflessness had cost him his life. Now, he, Charlie had a nice life. And getting nicer by the minute...
Lois had looked at him and whispered a name. The name of another man. Did she think he was that man? His brows furrowed as his mind rolled the name around. Clark. Who was he? Was he someone special to her? A husband maybe or perhaps a lover? For the briefest of moments he felt a swell of jealously for this Clark. Charlie was completely and utterly impressed with Lois, and for a second he wished *he* was Clark.
"Excuse me?" were the words that left his mouth as he stared down at her.
++++
He was confused, she could tell that, but the name had provoked a reaction deep within him. She tried to tell herself that it just wasn't possible. There was no way Charlie could be Clark! But her heart pleaded differently. "Would you like to have dinner with me?" The question rushed from her mouth before she even had a chance to realize the thought had entered her mind. She couldn't bear not seeing him again.
"Dinner?" he asked unsteadily and Lois could see a struggle behind his eyes. Had she been wrong about the mutual attraction? Or was there something else?
The silence continued and Lois was certain that he wasn't going to answer at all. But then he lifted his hand out toward her.
<<He's going to touch me!>> Anticipation swelled within her, but quickly died when he apparently thought better of his action and his hand dropped away.
With a thundering pulse and trembling legs, Lois took a half step toward Charlie. She had purposely not explained why she'd said another man's name, hoping it would trigger some kind of response. Logically she knew she was wrong. Wanting him to be wouldn't make it true, but he was dangerously alluring and she found herself unable to corral her growing attraction to him. "Yes, dinner. Maybe we can throw in a drink or two and some conversation for flare." She added a positively staggering little grin to fan the small flicker she saw behind Charlie's now smokey eyes.
++++
Her grin could be compared to rushing wind as it glides across your body, cool and intimate, Clark thought as he continued to stare down at this incredibly tempting woman. Who was this Lois? So much like his dream girl... so alluring. He remembered how he'd immediately thought of his dreams the first time he'd seen Melissa, but she'd never made him feel the way he felt right now. His heart had started to race a moment ago and he actually felt dizzy. There was something about this woman. He wanted to know everything.
His blood thundered through his veins, every nerve ending now on high alert. Taking a half step forward as Lois had done, he smiled back at her. “Why do I get the feeling you think I’m somebody else?” he asked her softly, needing her to understand that he wouldn't be mistaken for another man-- couldn't be a replacement-- even as he wondered why it mattered so much.
"Who are you, Charlie?" Lois whispered, seeming to be lost in his very aura as he entered her personal space.
"And you? Who is this woman before me? Dark haired beauty with enough familiarity to have been in my dreams." The words had slipped out as he continued to stare deeply into Lois' eyes. She was so beautiful. He found himself unable to resist her pull. Charlie felt as if he was falling. Falling into an unknown abyss that he wasn't in a hurry to escape.
“Could you be…?” she whispered with a different sort of look in her eye, as if he had somehow fueled a fire in her thoughts.
Charlie lifted his free hand and gently stroked Lois' cheek with his finger tips. She was so incredibly beautiful, just like the woman in his dreams. Same delicate features; same creamy smooth skin; same deep mysterious eyes. The hair was the same color even if the length was different. And her presence... Even in his dreams, Charlie's lady had managed to captivate him with her nearness. Much as this woman was doing now. This Lois...
"I know a place with a breath taking view. We could watch the sunset," Charlie said softly. His hand had dropped back to his side, but his whole body hummed in an effort to keep from touching her again. What was it about this woman he found so irresistible?
"When?" she asked without hesitation.
"Tomorrow night. I'll meet you in the lobby of your hotel at five."
"And dinner?" Her eyes never left his as they exchanged the details of their interlude, almost as if her mind had ceased to function.
"Allow me." He moved again, brushed his hand against her arm before turning to walk away. He looked back, smiling. "Until tomorrow, Lois."
"Tomorrow," she agreed and watched as he strode quickly down the beach, left to try and understand just what had happened.
Charlie didn't slow his pace until he stood on the boardwalk again. Lois. Who was this Lois? This woman who had managed to unnerve him so completely? In the two years he could recall with clarity, there had been no one that had made him feel so off balance. He had the sudden urge to run, to get away as quickly as possible. At the same time, he wanted to run straight back to her. She was intoxicating. So much so there would have been no way he could have refused her a thing, had she asked. With thoughts of their impending date, Charlie forgot about Lois calling him another name. His focus was on how he'd survive an entire night in her presence.
++++
The view from the fifth floor of the hotel called Donovan's was worth every cent of the price she'd paid to stay here. Lois sat, coffee mug between her hands, in the plush arm chair looking out of her huge picture window. Below her stretched the small bay several fishing boats called home. Others, those boats that only docked to refuel and pick up extra workers, flowed steadily at all hours of the day and night. A cliff created the back drop on the other side of the marina, covered with the lush green vegetation of summer. Just beyond that cliff was a neighboring city, more expansive than Mystic and certainly void of the drugging charm that lured one to this place. The sun was just beginning to rise into the clear blue sky. Another beautiful day would dawn, creating a lazy atmosphere in which to lose yourself.
Since her fateful meeting with a stranger the day before, losing herself was exactly what Lois had done. She'd sat in the chair in her room, staring out the window, or sitting on the balcony allowing the breeze to flow over her skin. It was as if she was searching for answers that could only be found as they rode in on the waves. But with each crash against the land, she was brought back to harsh reality. There were questions, tons of them. And she simply didn't know the answers to any.
All ability to think clearly had left her when she'd taken her first good look at Charlie. He was tall, dark and handsome, just as every stranger you meet should be. It reminded Lois of a romance novel, only she knew this fantasy couldn't be real.
Or could it? Was this Charlie really Clark? They looked almost exactly alike-- she'd come back to her room and dug out the picture of herself and Clark she carried in her purse. A beard covered Charlie's face, but the eyes were the same. She'd looked at those eyes a million times without ever seeing the real man. In both guises she'd been the recipient of an incredible warmth and compassion from those dark pools. Still, she never saw-- never realized. How could one person be so blind? When she'd looked deep into Charlie's eyes, she'd instantly seen Clark for the first time. Yet, her mind still labored over the truth. If Charlie really was Clark, why was he here and why hadn't he been home?
Every theory possible had come to mind. Maybe he'd been hurt and when he recovered he couldn't remember who he was. That explanation seemed to make the most sense. If Clark had consciously made the decision to stay away, there would have been some kind of recognition in his eyes when he'd first seen her. But there had been nothing. He hadn't recognized her at all. She'd argued with herself all night that if Clark saw her again, he'd know her and she'd know him.
However, she had to admit that she didn't know him-- had never known him.
They might have been friends and maybe in another time, if Lois had been another person-- like she was now-- they might have been more. They'd worked together, spent off time together, talked, shared things, but she'd never truly seen Clark Kent. Not the Clark who donned a brightly colored suit to save the world with his awesome abilities. No, that's not the man she should have seen. She'd never seen the *person* Clark was. Through his mother, and through her own memory when she'd finally taken off the blinders, she'd gotten to know Clark. And she'd grieved for so long because she'd only done that after the man was gone. Maybe, too, that went both ways. Maybe there had been no recognition because Clark hadn't ever seen her either. She reluctantly admitted that had been her fault. In keeping herself so emotionally closed off, she'd made it impossible for anyone, even Clark, to have possibly seen the real Lois Lane.
And who was that? Who was Lois Lane? Charlie had described her as 'so familiar she could have been in his dreams'. Did some subconscious part of his mind recognize her? He had certainly been drawn to her, just as her partner had been. Yet another reason to believe Charlie was Clark.
A striking resemblance, a mumbled question of vague recognition, and all the wishful thinking in the world didn't prove Charlie was Clark though. She'd have to learn more about him, be around him more to know for certain.
But what then? What if Charlie really *was* Clark? What did she do? Should she tell him who he was? It was likely he wouldn't believe her. She couldn't very well tell him that she'd known him and had ripped his heart out. If he'd been hurt and lost his memory, as she felt might be the case, it would be best to bring him around slowly, gently. Should she just spend time with him? Infuse bits of his past into their time together? She'd searched the web for insights into memory loss during the wee hours of the morning. All the experts said the same thing: surround them with the familiar and allow them to recall on their own.
How did she surround him with the familiar? If indeed Charlie was Clark? Mystic was nothing like Metropolis. His life now was nothing like that he'd lived once. She'd read an article that suggested sometimes those with memory loss that failed to recover immediately was because they were repressing something painful. Was that true? Was Charlie, Clark repressing painful memories?
She could answer that question at once. He'd told her that he'd been outside the Lexor the day she married, described how much it hurt. There had been another declaration of love, the reason he could never come back. He'd said good-bye because he was in pain. Could that be the reason his subconscious kept him from remembering who he was? Could *she* be keeping Clark from coming home?
That thought caused her excruciating pain, comparable to that she felt right after her wedding when she realized what huge mistakes she'd made. Without ever knowing she'd done it, Lois had caused one of the best men she knew to suffer. She'd known that his feelings were bruised, but had never imagined the extent of his agony. Clark had loved her, truly loved her. Unaware of what the emotion really meant, she'd foolishly declared her love for his alter ego after pushing him away in his real guise. How awful it must have been for him to hear her tell him that she'd love him even if he was just an ordinary man. And in pushing Clark away, she'd also taken Superman away from the world. For so long guilt had consumed her over her behavior. It was only when faced with his loss did Lois finally realize how deeply she did care for Clark Kent.
What now? If Charlie was Clark, what was she supposed to do?
Lois pushed up from the chair and walked up to the window. The sun shone brightly now, bathing the sleepy little town in brilliance. It was a beautiful day in the city by the sea. Maybe she'd go out, walk on the beach. Or maybe she'd go look at some wood carvings in one of the gift shops.
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Hands moved around the piece of wood, faster than humanly possible. When they stopped, a perfect replica of an old red dog lying on the sand stared up at him. Charlie smiled softly before starting the delicate process of sanding his creation. However, today was not a day to waste slowly. Today was a day for burning off frustration. His hands became a blur again and this time when they stopped, the statue had been sanded and stained to perfection. He'd carry this down to the beach to old Joe.
Charlie pushed back from the table, sighing heavily. What was wrong with him? Why couldn't he remember his life? The previous day had been riddled with thoughts provoked by his meeting with a reporter named Lois. Memories seemed to flow heavily, but hadn't stopped long enough for him to piece them altogether. How could he remember so much and so little at the same time? And why did a stranger stir such powerful emotions within him?
He'd sat outside in the warm air the day before recalling the last two years of his life. The fact that he hadn't been able to recall much had never bothered him before. He'd been happy with his meager existence, content to work out his days and spend his nights in blissful slumber. Only his nights were hardly ever blissful. Those dreams woke him often. They'd grown in intensity, especially over the last few months. Her image roared through his mind over and over. Was she real? Had she been someone he knew? If so, why wasn't he with her now? Where was she?
As the darkness had ended the day, another voice had whispered his name. The soft, velvety tones echoed loudly in the quiet night air surrounding his cabin. The voice belonged to someone he didn't know, yet felt he'd known forever. Lois had filled the empty spaces between the thoughts of his past the entire day, and she was the one who greeted the night with him as he'd sulked alone on his porch.
Now, as he stared out the window, she was the only thing on his mind again. Who was she? Why did she affect him the way she had? His desire to get to know her better warred with his sexual desire as he continued to recall their meeting. Standing before her as she'd asked him to dinner, his body had been consumed with primal hunger. He'd felt almost predatory in nature as he'd willed himself not to reach out and grab her. That's why he'd walked away so suddenly. How could a woman have such incredible power over a man by simply looking at him?
<<What does it mean?>>
His chair scraped the floor as he stood abruptly. There was no way he'd make it through an entire evening with that woman. Yet, there was no way he'd miss it either.
Charlie fumbled around inside his refrigerator for a cool drink in an effort to calm his nerves. After downing half a cold beer, he drudged over to the easy chair and plopped down. He'd been content with his life. There was no need to worry himself about his missing memories; they'd come eventually. Of course, he'd often wondered if he really wanted to remember. Maybe his life hadn't been so great. Maybe he was a criminal or owed some bookie lots of money. Or maybe there was a woman he wanted to forget.
Was that it? Was his dream lady some woman he'd rather forget? Was she the reason he couldn't recall all of his past? Is that why he was content not to remember? There had been times he'd tried, early on, but had eventually given up because it only caused him to feel horrible. Part of him did want to know, though an even larger part was afraid to know if there really was pain involved with his past. Until now it hadn't bothered him; he'd been comfortable to wait and see.
So what was different now? And what did Lois have to do with any of it? He'd asked himself over and over if Lois could be the lady from his dreams. It was just plain silly though. If she'd known him, she would have certainly said something... Wouldn't she?
Of course she would. No. Lois wasn't the woman from his dreams, but she was damn close. She certainly got Charlie's blood boiling like nothing ever had. So, maybe for tonight he'd just pretend that she *was* his dream lady. After all, it seemed she wanted him to be someone else.
