Moving-in day. Bit of an anti-climax, really. Her worldly possessions consisted of one medium-sized hold-all for clothes, a handful of CDs, a few books, and a radio-cum-CD player which Clark had lent her.
Not nearly enough to make an impact on the empty and impersonal living room she now stood in. The furniture in the studio apartment looked even tattier than she remembered, the walls more pock-marked and stained. There were cigarette burns on the carpet which she hadn’t even noticed before.
Was she making a big mistake? Leaving her nice fresh single room, with its friendly, familiar smell for this musty old dump?
The doorbell rang. Hey, she had a doorbell! That was progress, wasn’t it?
She opened the door, expecting Francine or George.
“Hi.” His smile was uncertain, his eyes serious. “I hope I’m not too early. I heard you were moving in today, but maybe you’re still settling in...?”
Oh, boy. Here he was on her doorstop, half of George’s time limit of a week was already up and she still hadn’t found the courage to tell Clark about what she knew.
She wasn’t ready for this.
She shook her head. “No, I did that already. Took all of five minutes to decide where to put my toothbrush,” she said. “Come on in.”
She stood aside to let him pass. Instead, though, he bent down and gathered up a pile of packages she hadn’t so far noticed. “I hope you don’t mind,” he said, squeezing past her and striding into the living room. “I figured you wouldn’t have much stuff for an apartment, so I brought a few things.”
Intrigued, she followed him in, eying with interest the parcels he dumped onto the carpet. “Clark, you shouldn’t have,” she protested. “I won’t be able to repay you.”
His lip curled. “Wait ‘til you see what I’ve brought before you start worrying about paying me back. You might hate it all.”
She doubted that. If his own apartment was any sort of a guide, then his taste in home decoration was pretty acceptable.
As she began opening the packages, she realised this was the first time they’d met since he’d visited her briefly when she’d been sick. He’d missed her last Francine session; called in to say he had a work commitment he couldn’t break. He’d never done that before.
Anyway, she’d sort of forgotten that overhearing him with George didn’t count as a proper meeting. A lot had happened since she’d been ill - she now knew much more about him than he’d ever told her himself. How on earth was she managing to continue this act of opening the packages and exclaiming enthusiastically about the contents, when every time their eyes met she felt like she was lying to him?
His purchases were perfect, though. There was a collection of posters depicting stylish, vintage commercials – they dated from the 1920s and 30s, she guessed, and advertised everything from soap to the Metropolis subway. There were a couple of thin but serviceable rugs in a mixture of warm russet and neutral shades, a beige linen tablecloth to cover the cheap and nasty formica dining table, some pottery vases in earthy colours, and best of all, a huge ethnic-style throw which followed the same colour scheme as everything else and was perfect for covering up the shabby sofa.
She even had a pot plant – a luxurious ficus, some three feet tall and just right for the corner where the carpet was completely threadbare.
“It’s wonderful, Clark,” she exclaimed, standing in the middle of the room admiring the transformation. “The place feels more like a home already.”
He smiled. “I’m glad you like it. It’s kind of my way of saying sorry for being such a lunkhead lately. I think for a while there I forgot what really matters more than anything else.”
“Which is?” she asked warily.
“Your happiness. That’s all I’ve wanted from the day we first met, Lois.”
She gulped, recognising the words as a repeat of what he’d told George just a few days ago. Her conscience pricked at her again, but at the same time her chest tightened under the crushing weight of his feelings for her. Fearing her expression would give her away, she turned from him. “Clark, that’s so sweet of you,” she said, needlessly straightening the edge of the tablecloth. “But you didn’t have to go to all this trouble to say sorry. A bunch of flowers would have done the trick just as well.”
“I thought this would be more practical.”
“It is...it’s great,” she said. “It’s just that you’ve given me so much, and I haven’t given you a thing in return.”
“Seeing you getting well is all the reward I need,” he said.
George had reprimanded him about this stuff, insisting he take care of his own needs as well as hers. Well, that message clearly hadn’t sunk in yet. She pasted a smile on her face and turned to face him again. “Sometimes I wonder what I’ve done to deserve all this kindness,” she commented casually. She shrugged and smiled a bit wider. “Or maybe you’re just as nice to all the crazy women you meet.”
His own smile wavered. A look of something...panic?...flashed across his face. “I just care about you,” he said. “That’s okay, isn’t it?”
Now! Her conscience yelled. This is when you tell him what you know.
I’m not ready, yelled back her brain. I need time to figure out what to say.
She broadened her smile. If she wasn’t careful, she’d split her own face in two. “I guess that’s what you do, isn’t it?” she said, forcing a lightness into her voice which she really wasn’t feeling. “Care about people.”
The relief on his face was palpable. “Yes, that’s what I do. And...I’m really pleased for you, Lois. It won’t be long before you’re ready to leave the clinic at this rate.”
“Maybe,” she replied. “I’m just taking each day as it comes. You know...manana and all that.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Talking of leaving...” His gaze dropped down to the carpet. “I won’t be around so much after today. Work’s getting really crazy, and Superman’s busier than ever...and you don’t really need me at Francine’s sessions any more.” He shrugged while still staring at the floor. “I’ll still come and visit you, of course, if you’ll let me, but...just not so often.”
And this was it. Apparently he had been listening to George after all. Of course, she should have been expecting this, but...so soon? “Clark-“
He swivelled on the balls of his feet and strode towards the door. “I’m sorry if this seems sudden,” he said huskily. “It’s just...like I say – work is busy and it’s getting harder to juggle my commitments.”
Those last few words sounded as though he’d had to force them out. He was making himself do this, of course, faithfully following his shrink’s advice to put some distance between them. And doing it so terribly clumsily. Painfully.
She should tell him she understood, that he didn’t have to do this because she already knew how he felt about her. It was all right, everything would be fine. They could carry on as before.
But the words wouldn’t come. She hadn’t been prepared for this, hadn’t rehearsed her lines. “That’s okay,” she heard herself say. “I understand how busy you must be.”
He smiled wanly. “I’ll see you around.” He pushed the door open.
He was leaving and she wasn’t even stopping him. Panic fluttered in her stomach – this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. It wasn’t right.
“You can visit me any time,” she blurted out before she lost him completely. “Any time you like.”
“Thanks.”
She hurried across the carpet to join him at the door. “I mean it. Just drop in...whenever. As a friend. A really good friend.”
Wrong thing to say, she thought, as pain clouded his eyes. He wanted love, not friendship, didn’t he? “Lois.” He clasped her upper arms lightly, leant forward and gently kissed her forehead. “Take care of yourself,” he murmured.
“I will.”
Somehow. On her own, without him. As he closed the door behind him, a tear rolled down her cheek. Why so sudden? Why did he have to make it seem so final? He was still going to visit her, wasn’t he? And she could visit him, for that matter. It wasn’t like she was trapped in this place – she didn’t need anybody’s permission to go out.
She dashed the tear away angrily. How dare he pull this stunt on her, before she was ready with her speech. How dare he bring gifts one moment, and then walk out on her the next. He should have more courtesy. More sensitivity.
Well, she’d show him. Show him just how well she could manage on her own. She strode over to the table, snatching up a scrap of wrapping paper from the floor on the way, sat down and began to make a shopping list. Cleaning materials, toiletries, food – she’d get this place organised in no time.
******************
He was sitting too close to her, hemming her in. She’d tried to inch away from him, make herself as small as possible against the window of the bus, but he was a large man and he sat with his legs spread wide apart. She’d had to angle her legs away from him in order to avoid his knee touching hers, but his hard shoulder still pressed up against her.
The bus had been half empty when he’d got on, yet he’d chosen to sit right next to her. She’d been looking out the window at the time, just like she was now, and had flinched when she’d felt him thump down heavily beside her. She hadn’t dared look at him, but she knew this for a certainty: he hadn’t needed to sit beside her.
Which was why she knew he was after her.
She stared blindly out of the window, rigid with fear and totally at a loss as to what to do. The bus reached her stop but she was too scared to get up and push past him. She didn’t want him to know where she was going. He’d follow her. Walk into the clinic behind her and then find a way to hide until she was alone.
The bus moved on again and tears filled her eyes as the familiar and friendly sanctuary of the clinic slid past and out of sight. All she’d wanted was to buy a few groceries for the apartment. Only her second shopping trip out of the clinic, and this was what happened.
Monster Clark, she reminded herself. George’s instructions from a couple of weeks ago filtered back to her in snatches: use your intelligence to combat the panic. Reason it out. Was this a real danger or just a figment of her imagination?
Well, she’d done that. He could have sat on an empty seat, but he’d chosen to sit beside her. Why else would he do that unless he was after her?
What to do? Again and again, the bus stopped but he didn’t get off. Most likely he was waiting for the terminus, when they’d be thrown off by the driver and he’d have her at his mercy. Perhaps she should get off at the next stop and take her chances when he followed her.
But it was too late for that. The bus had reached a rough, industrial part of the city – an area she didn’t know. There was no-one on the streets to run to; no houses or shops in which to seek help.
She was as good as dead.
He moved. Some of the pressure on her shoulder eased. She tensed – maybe this was it. They were reaching the terminus and he was getting ready to get off.
He stood up as the bus slowed and stopped. She heard the doors hiss open; waited for the driver to yell at her to get off.
Nothing.
The doors slammed shut again and the bus moved off. A large man sweeping a white cane before him walked past the window.
It took her a moment, but then the penny dropped and she realised with a sickening jolt that the blind man was none other than her theoretical assailant.
Relief flooded over her. How stupid she’d been. Of course he’d sat next to her; it was the seat closest to the door, and she even remembered now that there was a little sticker on the side of the bus indicating the seat was designated for the disabled and elderly.
But relief quickly turned to panic again as she realised that she had no idea where she was. Hastily, she stood up and got off at the next stop.
Then realised, as the bus drove away and left her standing in the middle of an industrial wasteland, that she’d made another mistake. She should have asked the bus driver for help.
She swung around in a circle, desperately searching for anything familiar or useful. Warehouses, boarded-up shops, wire fences and empty building plots surrounded her on all sides. She scanned the other side of the road for the bus stop which would take her back into town, but there was nothing. Presumably the bus ran on a circular route.
Okay, follow the bus stops back into town, she told herself. She could do this. She’d show everyone just how well she could cope. Uneasily, she set off back down the sidewalk. This didn’t feel like the kind of neighbourhood you wanted to go for a stroll in unless you had a death-wish or were heavily armed.
Two minutes later, she reached a corner and had no idea which way to turn. She hadn’t been paying any attention to the twists and turns of the bus route earlier, and there was no sign of the next bus stop down any of the streets.
“Help,” she said, her lone voice sounding awfully forlorn in the desolate landscape.
How ridiculous, she scolded herself. No-one could hear her, and anyone who did happen to be within earshot was probably not the sort of person she’d want to meet in any case.
Although...
No, she wouldn’t call Superman. She could do this. She’d got herself into his mess; she’d get herself out of it again. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to call him when he was trying to obey George and put some distance between them.
She picked a street and set off purposefully down it. If the bus stop wasn’t down this street, she’d retrace her steps and try the next one. Easy.
Except she had no idea how far apart the bus stops should be. After walking for ages and feeling the beginnings of a blister developing on the back of her heel, she stopped. Still no bus stop, and the neighbourhood wasn’t improving. If anything, it was getting worse. There were spent needles and broken bottles amongst the trash littering the street, and she’d just passed a drunk in a filthy raincoat, huddled in a corner and swigging from something in a brown paper bag.
She began to retrace her steps. She could do this, she really could.
“Got any spare change?” slurred the drunk.
She shook her head and hurried past.
“And **** you, too,” he yelled after her.
She picked up speed. The corner seemed miles away, and she began to wonder if she’d even recognise it when she got there. Everywhere looked the same.
A burly man passed by on the other side of the street, dressed in black leathers from head to foot and bristling with metal studs and chains. Tattoos crawled up both arms. Somewhere distant an angry-sounding dog barked.
She broke into a jog, ignoring the pain in her heel. The corner must be coming up soon, she told herself. Any minute now.
Yes, this was it. She turned and slowed back down to a fast walk. The bus stop would be down this street, she was sure. Her luck couldn’t be that bad. Lois Lane was rescuing herself, just like she always did. Like she should have done in the Congo. But this time she was going to get it right. She was going to get herself out of the mess.
She should never have allowed herself to get caught in the Congo. She’d known the dangers, known how to avoid them. The only reason she’d been captured was her own carelessness. She’d wanted the story too badly-
She froze. Off to her left, down a darkened street, a man was attacking a woman. He shoved her roughly against the wall, hauled her to her feet when she stumbled, and then pressed himself up against her. A hand clamped over her mouth and the other hand...
Lois ran. She’d be next, she was sure of it. She ran and ran, as fast as she could, until she was gasping and wheezing for breath. Still she ran, on and on, heedless of where she went so long as it was away from the terrible scene behind her.
Eventually, black spots began to swim in front of her eyes and she was forced to stop, her chest heaving and her throat hoarse from panting so heavily. She looked wildly around herself but nothing looked familiar.
The buildings crowded in on her. Every darkened doorway, every dim corner seemed to hold menace. She backed up against the nearest wall. “Help,” she whispered. “Help, Superman.” She hadn’t intended to call him, but the words just leaked out of their own accord.
Anyway, she’d been too quiet. He’d never hear her.
Moments later, she heard a whoosh. Saw a familiar blue and red figure jogging towards her. “Lois? What are you doing here?”
He looked so solid and reassuring, standing before her in his suit: he was Superman, all confidence, power and strength, not drug-addict Clark.
She remembered the scene she’d fled from. “He’s attacking her,” she said quickly.
“Where?” He glanced up and down the street.
She gestured in the direction she thought she’d run from. “In a side street.”
He nodded. “Stay right there,” he commanded firmly, then became a blur heading the way she’d indicated.
Ten seconds later he was back. “I couldn’t see anything,” he said. “Are you sure it was up there?”
She eyed the street and shook her head sadly. “No. But it was somewhere close by.”
“Okay.” He whooshed away. Came back again moments later. “Still nothing. You’re positive you saw something?”
She recalled the image she’d run from. It had been dark; the man had been in deep shadow. He’d been large and muscular, just like one of her captors. He’d pushed the woman against the wall, just like one of her captors. He’d gagged her with his hand, just like one of her captors. His other hand had pawed at the woman’s crotch.
Just like one of her captors.
“I...I’m not sure,” she said, faltering as she realised she could have misinterpreted what she’d seen. Especially in a district like this. “It was dark.”
“Well, there’s definitely nothing going on now,” he said. “I even scanned inside some of the buildings in case they’d taken the fight indoors.” He shrugged. “Nothing. Most people are just watching the ball game.”
He thought she’d imagined it. She bit her lip: he was probably right. Either she’d seen nothing at all, or the couple had been engaged in perfectly consensual sex. Lois Lane, the flake, had uprooted a violent memory from Brazzaville and placed it in the middle of industrial Metropolis.
“Look, I’ll check just one more time, okay?” he offered.
She nodded and waited while he disappeared a third time. They both knew it was pointless, that he was doing it for appearances’ sake only, but she was grateful for his indulgence.
“Nothing,” he reported a few moments later.
She nodded. “Thanks for checking.” For pretending she hadn’t totally lost her sense of reality. She raised a hand to her face to hide her wobbling chin; pretended to cough and clear her throat.
“Why are you here, of all places, anyway?” he asked.
“I...I got lost...” she said.
“I’ll take you home,” he replied immediately, coming forward to lift her into his arms.
She backed away from him. “No, I’m going to rescue myself,” she said. “I’m doing it right this time.”
His brow furrowed. “But you called me.”
“I know, but it was a mistake,” she insisted. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay,” he replied. “Why don’t you let me take you-“
“No, you don’t understand,” she said. “I have to do this myself,” she insisted, pressing herself back against the wall in case he tried to pick her up.
“Lois, you’re not making any sense,” he said. “What do you have to do yourself?”
“Find my way home,” she said, ducking away from him and starting to walk down the street. She darted her gaze around at the buildings as she went, keeping alert against the dangers hiding in the shadows. She could do this.
“Lois, where are you going?” he called from behind her.
“Home,” she said.
“The clinic’s this way,” he said.
She stopped.
“Lois, please let me help you,” he said softly.
“I want to do it myself,” she insisted.
“But you’re not even walking in the right direction,” he pointed out.
A tear ran down her cheek but she ignored it. She would not cry, dammit! She swivelled on the balls of her feet and set off again, avoiding his gaze as she walked towards him.
When she was level with him, he murmured, “Lois.”
She stopped. “What?”
“I think you should let me take you back to the clinic,” he said. “It’ll take you hours to walk back.”
“So?” she said. “The exercise will do me good.”
“You’re limping.”
She nodded. “I’ve got a blister.”
“All the more reason for me to take you, then,” he said.
She felt her bottom lip quiver. She’d failed again. Lois Lane wasn’t even capable of rescuing herself in her own home town. “Okay,” she said, all her resistance suddenly draining from her. “Since you’re here anyway.”
As he lifted her into his arms, another tear rolled down her cheek. She dashed it away. “I’m not crying,” she told him defiantly.
“Of course you’re not,” he murmured.
She buried her face in his shoulder and clung to his neck. “I’m still not crying,” she sniffed.
A few minutes later she lifted her head. “You won’t tell Francine about this, will you? Please?”
He frowned down at her. “Not if you don’t want me to.”
“I just made a mistake,” she said. “Anyone can make a mistake.”
“Sure they can.”
“I don’t want her to think I’m not managing on my own, because I am,” she added. “She might say I can’t have the apartment any more if she finds out about this.”
“I won’t say a word, Lois,” he said.
“Thanks.”
So much for being independent. So much for not needing him. How dare he come and rescue her and prove to her how much she needed him? She tightened her grip around his neck and pressed herself closer to his reassuringly solid bulk.
*******************
At her request, he set her down a block away from the clinic. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.
She nodded. “I’ll be fine.” The streets here were familiar so she had no fear of getting lost or encountering any kind of danger.
“I could change and walk you back-“
“I’m fine,” she insisted, forcing a smile. “Thanks for...well, everything.” She couldn’t bring herself to say ‘rescuing me.’ Her failure still smarted too much for that.
“Well, then, I guess I should be going.” He gave her a final worried glance and then turned away.
After a couple of paces he stopped and turned back to her, his cape blowing gently behind him in the breeze. “Don’t ever hesitate to call me, okay? Any time, day or night. I’ll be there for you.”
Just like he was for everyone. “Sure,” she replied. “I’ll do that.”
“I mean it, Lois,” he said, taking a step forwards again. “What I said the other day, about being busy and not seeing you so often...I didn’t mean we should never see each other. You’re important to me – I...I don’t want to lose...lose touch with you.”
His features were suddenly taut, his anxiety to get his message across palpable. “Well, like I said,” she said, striving for lightness in the face of his intensity, “you can visit me whenever you want.”
“I’d like that.” He smiled, a strained effort which did nothing to hide the worry behind his eyes. “Perhaps next week some time? Wednesday, maybe?”
She nodded. “It’s a date. I’ll start practicing recipes.”
His smile relaxed a little. “Great! But don’t go to any trouble for me. We can always get take away.”
“And deny me my first proper chance to prove my self-sufficiency skills? No way! It’s eat in or nothing.”
He smiled broadly; a full-on, eyes twinkling, ear-splitting grin. “I’ll look forward to it.”
As he glided effortless into the sky and scudded through the clouds, she reflected that perhaps Clark needed her just as much as she needed him. The change in his mood from worrying that he’d sent her the wrong signals the other day, that she might think he didn’t want to see her any more, to when he’d accepted her invitation, was like the difference between night and day.
She held such sway over his emotions. If he couldn’t see her, he was unhappy; if he could see her, he was happy. Perhaps she’d been wrong to be awed by the power of his feelings for her. Perhaps she should instead be awed by the power she herself wielded over his emotions.
******************
