ToC - for previous parts.
Waking a Miracle -- (03/??)
The interview, he thought, had progressed fairly well after
he had finally steadied his footing. The last remnants of
the call for help that had so startled him as he had sat
down had faded with time, and Mr. White had actually started
to converse casually with him after a while. There had even
been an anecdote about Elvis interning as a cub reporter.
That had taken some effort to keep a straight face about,
but he'd managed.
"No," Clark had said, "I didn't know Elvis wanted to work at
the Planet."
He was enduring another pause in the interview as Mr. White
churned further through Clark's portfolio, when the door
rocked on its hinges and opened without so much as a knock
for precursor.
"Chief! I have a Pulitzer story for sure!" The cry was a
feminine machine-gun. A gust of air from the outer newsroom
flew past and startled the papers on Mr. White's desk.
Mr. White's eyes widened just a bit, as if he had spotted an
oncoming train and was nailed to the tracks, but his
composure returned so quickly Clark debated whether he had
imagined it. He heard the click of heels echoing off the
floor behind him, and a tingling sensation began on the back
of his neck.
Clark turned to face the intrusion.
His breath caught, and he stared, despite how rude it
seemed. For the barest of moments, her eyes locked on his,
and the world spilled away. It was the first time in his
life he had floated without leaving the ground. The voice,
relentless in haunting him, was silent, and her thrumming
heartbeat filled the void left in its wake. Exquisite.
She blinked and shifted her gaze back to Mr. White.
"Chief," she began again, "I think there's a story here. I
got a call from my contact in the FBI, you know, Scott,
and--"
Her voice seemed to be fading in and out. He saw her lips
moving, arms gesturing frantically, but that was all. Her
brown hair, cut in an immaculate bob, framed the motions of
her head as she cycled through her speech.
Sound came roaring back.
"--he's claiming there's some sort of *cover-up* going on
about a Bureau 39 and that Independent candidate, George
Thompson. I think--"
Mr. White finally stood up to intervene. His hands splayed,
he pointed to his chest and cleared his throat. "Can't you
see I'm in the middle of something here?"
Her gaze twitched to Clark and then back to Mr. White, and
her lips closed into a small 'o' shape. "Oh." Her tirade
stopped, but the tension in her posture told him she was
just waiting for the light to turn green again.
This woman, whoever she was, was pure spitfire.
He felt his breath come back to him at last, and he stood,
his chair creaking obnoxiously as he did so as if to say,
"This man didn't know to stand when a beautiful lady
entered! The idea is just now processing through his thick
cranium. Look and behold the Neanderthal..."
He barely held his mouth closed. If he were to say hello
now, he was sure it would come out something like, "Uhhh."
Great job, Clark, drooling will really help the image.
Silence ticked by for a few moments. Clark watched varied
emotions shift through Mr. White's features, from annoyance
to acceptance to pride... His eyebrows seemed to tick each
one off in fast succession.
The editor, it seemed, was going to introduce them.
"Lois Lane," Mr. White gestured to the woman and then moved
his hands to point towards Clark. "Clark Kent."
Lois Lane.
Clark felt as though air were rushing through his veins when
her eyes flicked again to him. He hoped the burning
sensation he felt across his brow, cheeks, and throat was
not a blush. A surreptitious glance downward revealed that
his feet, at least, still remained firmly on the ground.
Lois Lane.
He had read many of her articles, but not once had he
imagined, well, this...
You're still goggling like a fish, Clark.
But the world was speeding past, and all he could do was
blink.
Lois Lane.
"Nice to meet you," she said, so quickly she sounded like
one of those dolls with a pull cord, with some sort of
maniacal puppeteer yanking at the string.
She inhaled a bit, and Clark started a mental countdown.
Three.
Two.
One.
"Anyway," the whirlwind started again, "This could be the
story of the century! It might solve the Miracle Man
mystery and bring down Thompson all in one fell--"
"Lois," Mr. White enunciated, his tone low and cautionary.
"What happened to the investigation on the Messenger
launch?"
She was flippant. "I wasn't in the mood. Every station is
covering it already and--"
Mr. White's voice got even lower. "Looois..."
"There's nothing there, Perry!" Her face took on a look of
urgency. "It's nothing but a malfunction in a fragmented
organization that doesn't know its own arms from its feet.
I could write something for the op-ed page if you want, but
you never seem to have a problem coming up with people to
jaw jack about their opinions for twelve paragraphs. I'd
much rather be investigating a scandal involving our
potential future president!"
"Now listen here, Lois, I--"
A young man in casual wear took that moment to knock on the
side window of Mr. White's office. Probably a gopher, Clark
thought. The kid looked pointedly at Lois and mimed talking
into a phone with his thumb and pinky.
"Gotta run!" Lois exclaimed after looking over at the boy.
"Catch you later, Chief."
With a small wave and a quick about face, Lois Lane was
gone, and Clark finally began to catch up with the world
around him.
Lois. Lane. Lois Lane.
The woman had put such conviction and strength into her
stories, he had imagined she would be complicated.
Domineering, uncompromising, pig-headed... It seemed she
was all those things and more, but also...
"Brilliant." Clark sighed.
"Well I, uh," Mr. White shook his head, as if he too were
trying to clear some cotton from his brain. "What was that,
son?"
"Nothing, sir."
"If that woman wasn't one of the best damn investigative
reporters I've ever seen, I'd..." The editor sighed, shook
his head again, and returned to his seat.
Clark followed suit.
It briefly occurred to him that Lois had mentioned, in part
of her tirade that he'd actually managed to hear, something
about investigating Miracle Man. He supposed it should
worry him that a three-time Kerth-winning investigative
superstar was looking into him. But the voice hadn't caught
up with the situation yet, and he was still peacefully stuck
on batting her name backwards and forwards in his head, as
though that would make some sense of the wide array of
feelings that had overtaken him the minute she had barged in
the room.
"Well, look, Kent, you seem like an intelligent guy," Mr.
White began.
For a minute, Clark tensed up again, and the clamminess to
his hands returned. Was this the end of the interview? He
hoped he hadn't blown it.
The smile that crept across Mr. White's face, however, told
him his fears were unfounded.
"Your writing samples are exactly what I'm looking for. Dan
Carlton couldn't say enough about your reporting skills over
the phone. You came in here a bit nervous, and you're not
quite as experienced as I'd like, but I can see you've got a
good set of ideals and are ready to stand up when you're
challenged. That's exactly what I like to see in a
reporter, and exactly what I want for the Daily Planet. I'd
like to extend you a job offer."
"That's..." Clark was speechless. He had hoped for over a
year that the Daily Planet would eventually be his home, and
the idea had been looking more and more realistic as his
interview with Mr. White had approached, but, finally
obtaining his dream instead of just dreaming it. Well that
was, "Wow."
"When can you start?"
Without even thinking, Clark replied, "Tomorrow."
"Good." Perry stood, came around to the front of his desk,
and offered Clark Kent a hand to shake. "Clark Kent,
welcome to the Daily Planet."
*****
"Help! The scaffolding is coming loose!" The screaming was
like an ice pick to his brain.
Clark squeezed his eyes shut and stood still as a steel
pylon. He was on the landing of his potential new
apartment, but at that moment, it could have been Mount
Everest from how thin the air suddenly seemed.
Deep breaths were the ticket, he tried to convince himself.
But the nausea and light-headedness didn't go away.
The voice came back with a vengeance.
Coward, Clark, you're a coward. Nobody would notice if you
just did it. Save them! Real quick. You can move faster
than sound, nobody will see. Trask can't possibly be
keeping you under surveillance twenty-four hours a day.
Could he?
And yet he found himself back in Kansas, running down that
dirt road to the smoking remnants of his parents' truck,
Trask standing idly by as his mom and dad died in terror.
His body felt cold and tortured as he relived their screams
and the subsequent sound of warping, tearing metal, broken
glass, and the dream-like silence that followed.
Sssave them, coward, the voice hissed.
He felt like he was being ripped in two and his chest
constricted when he finally decided it wasn't worth the
risk.
He couldn't risk that again. Not ever.
Accidents happened in life. They were unavoidable.
But if that logic was so applicable, why did he feel like he
was being rent like a piece of meat at the hands of a
butcher?
He longed for the euphoria he had felt in the presence of
Lois Lane to return, but it seemed to have been thoroughly
kicked out of the way by whoever had screamed just now. His
whole body was tense, tremors of stress running through him
like electricity through a wire.
How was he going to endure living in a city like this? He
was loath to even debate it, but...
Lois Lane. He pictured her exactly as she was when she'd
decided to storm into his life earlier that day.
The tremors settled into dull vibrations. Far from relaxed,
he at least didn't feel like he was going to throw up
anymore.
He sighed.
He still didn't know what to think about her. A new pain
began whenever he rolled her name through his head, but it
was a different kind of pain than what he was used to -- one
that most certainly was not bad. It was more... a wanting.
A wanting to fill a hole he hadn't even realized he'd had.
This whole bit was crazy, he knew. He didn't even know the
woman. But years in the future, when memories of now were
dulled like aging watercolors, he knew he would still
remember with perfect clarity what he had felt when she'd
walked in on his interview. And like a drug, he knew it was
something he wanted to feel again.
His whole nervous system seemed to tingle at just the
thought of seeing her tomorrow.
Wow.
He was going to work with her.
Oh sure, he had no delusions it would be a partnership. But
he would see her. Every day.
Co-workers with the intrepid Lois Lane.
That had a nice sound to it.
What *are* you talking about, Clark Kent. I thought we
were discussing what a coward you were.
"Clark Kent?"
He snapped to awareness. The heavyset landlord had snuck up
on him without much, if any, effort.
"Yes," Clark said as he turned to face a man dressed in a
sloppy pair of pants, white undershirt, and red corduroy
jacket.
"Name's Floyd." Floyd did not proffer a hand to shake.
"The one-bedroom I had open, right?"
Clark nodded.
"You look pale," Floyd commented as he fumbled with the keys
a moment until he found the right one and pushed it into the
aging lock. "Not sick are you?"
"Just a dizzy spell. I didn't have much to eat today." It
was a bald-faced lie, but Clark didn't think he could feel
any worse at the moment. In the place he had heard screams
just minutes ago, he now only heard silence.
The door creaked open loudly enough to make Clark wince.
That would need some oil.
Floyd made a grand gesture as he stepped inside, but the
look of the apartment made it seem almost like he was a
ring-leader at a circus. Yes, folks, it's the messiest,
most ruinous apartment on the market in the world. Behold
the patchwork paint job! The uneven flooring. Behold!
"Quietest building in Metropolis," Floyd commented proudly
as a nearby car alarm pierced the air and the ventilation
system began to make a heavy whumping noise, as though it
were conveying something considerably more solid than air
through the ducts. "You married?"
"No." Clark glanced around. What a dump, but... There was
something that just seemed right about it.
Floyd pried further. "Girlfriend?"
"No." There were layers thick dust on the floor and the
counters, and full-blown breeding piles of dirt heaped up
like mountains in the corners of each room. Papers were
strewn everywhere. Some of the furniture was overturned or
broken or both. Had the last resident been related to a
cyclone?
"Boyfriend?"
Clark paused and looked at Floyd, an incredulous look on his
face. Was there nothing this man would not ask? He felt
oddly like he were under a microscope, being picked apart
piece by cowardly piece. He didn't think his pallor had even
hinted at returning since Floyd had started talking to him.
"Me, I mind my own business." Floyd shrugged. "Where you
from?"
"Kansas." Screams. Metal. Blood. He tried very hard to
make sure his voice didn't crack.
Clark turned away from Floyd and moved into the kitchen.
When he placed his hand on one of the overhead cabinet
handles, the door fell off. He resisted the urge to jump
back a bit. He'd barely touched it, that couldn't have been
him.
Floyd was unperturbed, and Clark untensed a bit. "Few
screws is all."
Clark moved to the sink and turned the faucet on. Brown
water that looked slightly more appealing than tar glopped
down into the basin.
"Minerals," Floyd assured him. "Good for the liver."
Clark was very glad he didn't have to eat or drink.
He moved on to the living room area, pushing aside some
debris with his foot as he hazarded a path.
There was a beautiful multi-paned window that went at a
slant from the ceiling to a dilapidated window-seat.
Sunlight streamed through the panes in what seemed like
solid shafts because of all the dust drifting around in the
air. Beyond the window there was a patio and then the solid
brick wall of another building.
"Nice view." Floyd gestured to the window in question. "You
see out. No one sees in. Walk around in the buff. I do."
Clark stared at the overweight landlord and tried very hard
not to picture it. At least he wasn't asking questions
anymore.
"How much?" Clark felt compelled to ask after glancing
around again. He doubted he would find a better place --
this apartment was quite large considering he was in the
middle of a populous city. The brief home he had made in
Kansas City had been about half the size, for an exorbitant
fee, and Kansas City wasn't even that large in comparison.
With a bit of cleaning up, this place would probably end up
being quite suitable. And of course, there was the curious
feeling he had gotten the moment he'd entered -- that he was
somehow destined to feel at home here.
"950," Floyd answered.
"950?!" Clark felt his eyebrows shoot towards his hairline.
That was steep. Real steep.
"You want cheap?" Floyd asked. "Go back to Iowa."
"Kansas."
Floyd didn't seem to notice the correction. "This is
Metropolis. Nine even. Take it or leave it."
Clark made another circle of the apartment. He put his hand
on the banister and the handle came off in his hands. If he
hadn't known better at this point, he would have doubted his
self-control of his powers. "Mind if I make a few repairs?"
Floyd seemed to debate with himself for a moment. "I guess
not."
"When can I move in?"
That drew a very small sliver of a smile from the landlord.
"Soon as the check clears."
Clark drew out his checkbook. This would hurt, but not as
much as staying in a hotel. He needed a home, and his
savings from Kansas City would allow this expenditure,
provided his paycheck from the Planet arrived in a timely
fashion.
"I'll have extra keys made," Floyd replied as Clark placed
a filled-out check in his hands.
He glanced around one more time and sighed. This was going
to be quite a fixer upper.
*****
TBC...
(End Part 03/??)
