Haunting Eden - Part 3
by Lynn M
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With the tip of her shoe, Lois flushed the toilet and turned to make adjustments to her belt. She’d reached the last hole on the leather strap, and now when she buckled it, it remained loose enough to spin around her waist. Since it was absolutely useless at its job of holding up her pants, she’d jerry-rigged a large safety pin to perform that duty, but it required some finagling each time she visited the bathroom.
As she muttered under her breath and contorted her fingers in completely impossible positions, she heard the door of the ladies’ room swing open and the click of high heels on the linoleum floor in the outer lounge. Lois sucked against her teeth and rolled her eyes. She could make a run for it. But she needed to wash her hands. If whoever had walked in saw her - a sure bet since she'd left her invisibility suit at home - they’d ask her about Clark. And she’d have to smile brightly and say that he was doing great and that yes, she missed him a lot. And that no, she had no definitive idea when he’d be back but she hoped very soon.
She wasn’t up for it. Staying in the stall for a few minutes would make her even later for the afternoon call meeting, but in this case, it was worth it. When she heard the chattering voices of not one but two women, her decision was validated. Nothing worse than tag team pity.
“...cutest butt."
“That could be worth putting up with a lot.”
Giggling followed and grew louder as the women entered the bathroom proper. Lois recognized the later voice as that of Laura, the girl in accounting who always questioned her expense reports.
“Yeah, with eyes like those and that body, I think I’d let him get away with murder.”
Mary. Or Maria, Lois assigned the second voice.
“Well, I’d never say it to her face, of course, but she’s a fool if you ask me,” Laura said with no small amount of derision.
“I don’t know.” Mary-Maria was a little more sympathetic. “I mean, if she really loves the guy – ”
“Love, shmove. He left her cold, what seven....eight months ago? I think there’s some kind of statute of limitations on the love excuse if the guy’s a total schmuck and never even calls.”
“I heard he was on assignment,” Mary-Maria offered as an excuse. “Undercover, something real hush hush.”
Laura wasn’t buying it. “Yeah, I’m bettin’ that’s just a story she made up to save face. I can tell you for a fact that he’s not getting paid anymore. At least not by the Planet. Plus we haven’t received a single expense report, and you just know that’s proof positive that he ain’t on no assignment that’s legit.”
Lois’s breath caught. Were they talking about her and Clark?
“Oh, man. And he was so cute.”
“Know what I heard from Brenda down in subscriptions? That he’s actually already married.” Laura waited for Mary-Maria’s outraged gasp. “Yep. Has a wife and three kids living someplace in Idaho.”
“Ohhh, do you think he’s one of those Mormons, who, like, can have more than one wife?” Mary-Maria supposed with some hint of understanding.
“They can’t do that,” Laura admonished, then added a little less confidently, “At least not anymore I don’t think. Besides, that’s Utah, not Idaho.”
“Wow. You mean he proposed to her and all when he was already married?”
“Maybe she knew about it. Maybe he told her he was getting a divorce then up and change his mind or something. Happens all the time.”
“That’s harsh,” Mary-Maria said, her voice brimming full of pity. “And he always seemed like such a nice guy. One of the few decent ones, you know? Didn’t seem to have all of his brains located in his pants.”
“Well, it’s not like she’s got the greatest track record with men.” The rush of running water filled the room, but still Laura’s words came straight into Lois’s stall, clear as if she’d been speaking directly to her. “I coulda told you from a mile away that that Claude was up to no good. He was boinking Theresa the whole time he was romancing her.”
“Theresa in your department?” Mary-Maria asked, incredulous. “Man, that girl gets around.”
“Tell me about it,” Laura agreed with a chuckle. “I don’t let Gary get within twenty feet of her.”
“You’re a smart one,” Mary-Maria praised. The water turned off, and Lois wondered if the women could hear her heart pounding against her ribs. “I almost feel sorry for her, you know. You think she knows what he’s been up to?”
“I don’t know. The girlfriend always seems to be the last one to find out,” Laura said authoritatively.
“Well, if you ask me, she’s better off without him,” Mary-Maria said with finality, her voice getting smaller as the women returned to the lounge. But not small enough. “Man that’d treat you like that? Nothing but trash.”
The words hung in the air as the women left the ladies’ room.
Nothing but trash.
The door swished shut, the only sound remaining the plinking drip of water in the sink.
Turning back to the toilet, Lois leaned over and neatly deposited the contents of her lunch into the ceramic bowl.
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Lois met him halfway across the club’s lobby, and as she approached, Clark allowed himself to be distracted once again by the long expanse of smooth leg her red cocktail dress revealed. He couldn’t honestly recall an instance when he’d thought of Lois as anything but gorgeous, so he should have been used to the sight of her after a year and half as partners. But she somehow managed to take his breath away time and time again. Not only did the dress show off a dizzying length of thigh but it dipped low enough to reveal an ample amount of cleavage and skin, creamy silk tinged with velvety peach darkening to an enticing shadow that dipped beneath a deep V of chiffon and sequins.
He wanted to devour her, pull her into his arms and absorb her into his own skin. Take her home and peel off the slip of red, explore every inch of her for the rest of his life. If she only knew how much he adored her, loved her...
“Clark,” she said, slightly breathless, her eyes snapping with excitement. “I just found out Georgie Hairdo’s dead.”
Blinking, he forced his thoughts back to the mission at hand. Time enough to lust after her later. Lord knows he spent most of his waking - and sleeping - hours doing it anyway.
Hers was important news, to be sure. But he had some of his own to share, and his was a bit more urgent. “Yeah, well, Bonnie and Clyde are both here. We’ve got to call the police. C’mon.”
As he spoke, he grasped her arm, ready to escort her out of the club while resolutely ignoring the spark of fire that shot through his hand and straight into his heart at the feel of her warm skin. He’d had his reservations about coming to the questionable establishment from the very beginning, and knowing that the gangsters sat only a few feet away inspired him to hustle Lois out of the place as quickly as possible.
But before they could take two steps toward the door, she was pulling out of his grip, turning toward the slot machines. “No, you go. I’ve got to find a gray-haired lady with a bucket of my nickels.”
He started to protest, completely baffled that the danger she was in so utterly alluded her. How could she be so incredibly intelligent and so stupid at the same time? Perhaps not stupid, but certainly foolhardy. And reckless. Maybe even a tad bit insane...
Before the words of chastisement could come, his attention was grabbed by the deafening staccato of machine gun fire. The room erupted in terrified screams, and confusion prevailed as half a dozen gangsters stepped into the club. Next to him, Lois whirled around, trying to comprehend exactly what was going on. Over his left shoulder, Clark saw Bonnie and Clyde draw guns and move backwards to join their comrades.
An elderly gentleman with a pale gray fedora and a vivid red scar running the length of his left cheek stepped forward and began to speak as the confusion quieted. “My apologies, ladies and gentlemen, for this little interruption. I just dropped by to announce that Georgie Hairdo has wisely decided to retire from the hospitality business. So from this day forward, this joint is owned by Al Capone.”
Clark could scarcely believe this guy was for real. His entire speech sounded like something straight out of a 1950s gangster movie, even the way he pronounced the “e” at the end of “Capone”. But the guns his gang carried weren’t movie props, and the danger to everyone in that club was all too real.
For a second he struggled with what he should do. In one quick burst, he could have all of the criminals tied up and disposed of at the nearest police precinct, case closed. But that would involve Superman, and Superman wasn’t around, at least as far as Lois and the club patrons were concerned. Better he just wait, and as long as no one’s life was in danger, let the scene play out. Afterwards, he could easily make his excuse and round them up outside the club without fear of revealing his dual identity.
At that moment, the man who had fired the initial shots stepped forward, his gaze trained on Lois. “Hey, Al. Maybe we could make this little cutie our head hostess.” He approached her, and Clark could feel Lois stiffening. “I was always partial to a lady in red.”
He lifted a hand to cup Lois’s cheek, and she flinched away from his touch.
Clark didn’t think, just reacted instinctively as he batted the man’s arm away from Lois with a sharp command. “Leave her alone!”
“Who are you, her big brother?” the gangster bellowed. With that, he shoved Clark hard in the chest, sending him several steps backwards.
Fury filled him. Before he could think better of it, he lunged toward this cretin who dared to touch Lois. Who dared to even looked at her that way. He didn’t care if the whole world found out that he was Superman. He was going to smear this guy into the ground.
At first the sound didn’t register in his brain properly, and as he jerked backward, he wondered how the gangster had managed to shove him again when Clark hadn’t yet gotten close enough to be reached. Three loud blasts. A car backfiring in the street outside. Fireworks exploding overhead. The violent release of a champagne cork behind the bar.
Then Lois’s hands were on his shoulders, assisting him as he felt himself falling backward. As he went down, he could see the smoke coming from the barrel of Clyde’s gun, and it helped him make the connection. He’d been shot at.
He wanted to laugh. Didn’t that idiot know that bullets couldn’t hurt Superman?
Lois was crying, and his amusement withered. He thought to tell her not to be worried, that he was fine. Had he ever seen her cry before? Maybe. He couldn’t seem to focus or remember. He tried to give her a reassuring wink.
Except for some reason, the impact of the bullets hurt a lot more than they usually did. Normally, being shot felt like the firm flick of a finger snapped against his body. Painless. Sting-free. But this time it contained an odd burn that spread from the point of impact throughout the expanse of his entire chest. He couldn’t remember ever feeling that particular sensation before.
“You moron! What did you do that for?” Al Capone with the 'e' was complaining. “Now we gotta get out of here.”
Clark felt dizzy, and his eyes started to blur. The novelty of pain was quickly wearing thin, and he was ready for it to stop. And he couldn’t understand why Lois was still crying. She touched his chest and his lips, although for some reason he couldn’t feel any warmth in her fingers. She shouldn’t be so upset. Look. She’d managed to smear her red lipstick all over the back of her hand. On her fingertips. She needed to be more careful.
God, it was getting so cold in that room. He needed to get her home. Get her a sweater. Something so he wouldn’t be so damn cold.
“No! Clark, no!” Lois was wailing now, but her voice sounded thin and empty, as if she stood at the end of a long tunnel. He couldn’t see her any more.
His chest itched something fierce, and he lifted a hand to scratch it, surprised by how much the effort drained him. Instead of the cloth of his shirt or even the smooth skin beneath it, his fingers touched something sticky, and the sweet smell of iron reached his nose with a sharp sting. He lifted his hand, trying to remember when he’d spilled his drink on himself. If he’d even had a drink. Or perhaps that pretty lady at the bar had thrown her drink at him, like they did in the movies. No wonder he was so cold, his teeth chattering. His shirt was soaked.
When he looked at his hand, he saw with relief that it was only a scrap of Lois’s red dress that had managed to wrap around his fingers and now dripped down his palm, silk and chiffon warm and sweet as it flowed out of his body and over his chest. So much dress, surrounding him like a cloud. Had he told her how beautiful she looked in red?
She leaned over him, but he could only make out the dark hollows of her eyes. The rest of her face receded, pulled back into shadows as the light in the room dipped and flared, then steadily dimmed.
“Lois, I can’t see you,” he said, only the words didn’t go any further than his brain.
It was getting hard to breathe. Too hard. He’d just stop for a while. Rest.
Why was Lois screaming?
Claaark!
Gasping, he choked and gagged, forcing air down his throat in huge gulps.
Instantly he reached for the ring. He always reached for the ring, used it to pull himself out of the pit of hell he kept tumbling into.
Releasing a painful breath, he waited for the stinging to subside, his chest a raging fire. He was almost glad for the strap that held his head down, making him unable to look at his own body, afraid that three round holes torn through his skin and bones would taunt him with evidence that he was slowly but surely going insane.
“Lois,” he whispered, shutting his eyes tightly. “I can’t see you.”
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“Status!”
Lieutenant Toren jumped at the question barked so unexpectedly close behind him. A few feet away, his superior, Commander Dion, leapt from his chair, bowing deeply toward the imposing man who’d barged into the control room.
After he’d received a nod of approval for his subservience, Dion righted himself and looked nervously at his tablet. “Um...well, my lord, we’ve catalogued all of his memories. Have them sorted both chronologically and by – ”
“No, you imbecile,” Lord Nor interrupted. “I want a status on how long this is going to take.”
“He’s...we’ve been working with him steadily,” Dion stammered. “But I'm afraid we don't have a definitive time frame...”
Lord Nor’s eyes widened and his face flushed red with anger. Toren took an instinctive step backwards, stopping only when the back of his legs made contact with the console behind him. Although he held no love for Commander Dion, who possessed a cruel streak he often unleashed on those within his power, Toren felt a small flicker of pity for the man. After all, they were just scientists, unused to the demands of a tyrant such as Lord Nor who took bad news very badly.
To his credit, Commander Dion managed to stop his own retreat, lifting a wavering chin valiantly as he tried to offer an explanation that might appease his master. “This process takes a long time, I’m afraid. We need to discern which memories are going to be most effective.”
“But you will find out, won’t you?” Lord Nor asked, his voice low with unconcealed warning. “Sooner rather than later.”
Toren silently willed the commander to lie. Lord Nor would as soon lob all of their heads off as not should he not like the answer Dion had to offer. But instead of appeasing Nor, the commander studied the tablet again, as if the right answer would appear before him.
“We’ve already covered his childhood and have moved on to his...” Dion trailed off as Lord Nor’s hand snaked out to grasp him firmly around the throat. The tablet clattered to the ground.
“And have you seen any change?”
“Nothing...nothing significant as of yet, my lord,” Dion rasped with the little air allowed to flow through Nor’s grip.
“It had better work,” Lord Nor snarled, peering toward the glass at the figure lying motionless on the metal slab in the adjacent room. “If it doesn’t, I’ll destroy him myself. Along with every person in this room who has failed me.”
With a thrust, he released the gagging man.
“Yes, my lord,” Dion agreed when he could muster enough breath to speak. He bowed his head slightly as he rubbed at the bright red marks around his neck.
Toren spared a glance toward the glass and the room beyond it. In truth, Commander Dion had presented the facts of the matter with quite a bit of glossy coating. This prisoner was like none other that they had encountered. Even after two full moon-cycles, he remained stubbornly resistant whereas most submitted before the end of a single cycle. His eyes were still clear and coherent, and though he rarely spoke, when he did, his voice and words indicated that their efforts had not yet had any lasting effect. Only in the brief moments after each treatment did he display any signs of weakening, but soon afterwards his brain readings returned to normal, baffling every member on the science team.
Commander Dion, most likely in an effort to secure his own tenuous existence for at least a while longer, was offering Lord Nor some hope. But what he said caused Toren to blanche. “We are exploring new methods. Techniques that we’ve never attempted but show promise. There is some risk involved – ”
“I don’t care about risks. You do whatever is necessary to convert him. When I return, I’d better see some progress.” With this final warning and a glare for good measure, Lord Nor turned and strode from the room, the door hissing shut behind him.
For a minute, the control room remained silent, as if everyone could feel Lord Nor’s grip around their own throats and feared to take a deep breath. Then, slowly, each person returned to the task they’d been doing before the interruption.
Just as Toren felt the tension easing out of his own shoulders, Commander Dion’s shout ripped down his spine. “Toren! I need a status update on the Nyx assimilation procedure!”
Toren licked his lips, his brain working furiously to find an answer that would satisfy his commander but keep him from learning how close they were to finalizing the highly questionable procedure. “Well, uh, we’ve pretty nearly reached the testing phase, but we’re having problems locating suitable test subjects. Uh...all of the Nagas have already undergone conversion, so, uh...naturally, they can’t be used.”
Dion scowled. “We may have to skip the testing phase.”
Toren blinked. Already he struggled with the completely unethical use of their research to carry out Lord Nor’s commands. But this breach of scientific process would be his undoing.
Feeling slightly desperate, he tried to steer his commander down another path. “Uh...Commander Dion, I think...uh, the best plan is to continue our current course of treatment. He’s showing signs of weakening. Another couple of cycles, and uh...I’m certain we’ll break him.”
Lowering his face until it was only inches from Toren’s, Dion nearly hissed, “Can you guarantee that? Stake your very life on it?”
Every instinct for survival that Toren possessed screamed at him to nod enthusiastically. But as a scientist, he was trained to present the unadulterated facts as he saw them, not to placate irrational tyrants or the unfortunate underlings ordered to carry out his commands. He swallowed hard, screwing up his nerve. “To be honest, sir, we have no idea how any of this will affect him. He’s not like the others. All of our measurements indicate that his brain doesn’t function the same way as a normal Kryptonian’s, so we can’t know how...or if...this method, or any other one for that matter, will work. It could kill him. Or...uh...worse.”
Dion straightened to his full height, glaring down at Toren with a ferocity that Toren thought might just rival Lord Nor’s own grisly visage.
“You listen closely, Lieutenant Toren. If the man lying in that room isn’t converted by the time Lord Nor returns, I’ll make sure that your head is the first one separated from its body.” He bent down and retrieved his errant tablet, issuing his last command over his shoulder as he strode toward the door. “I want to know the minute you’ve finalized the Nyx.”
After the door closed, Toren realized he was shaking from head to foot. He lowered himself into a chair, raking his fingers through his thick mop of blond hair. Not for the first time in that long year – actually, in that very long cycle – he wondered how he’d come to be in such a horrible place. Everything about his life was wrong, but he was powerless to do anything about it.
He fought against the urge to look at the man lying beyond the glass. He tried hard to maintain a distance from the subjects. He needed that disassociation to maintain his own sanity. Only by placing himself in the role of pure, unemotional scientist could he keep from doing himself bodily harm, because everything about what they were doing was wrong.
There were worse fates than his, though, he had to admit. When Lord Nor had taken over Tai Shan and its facilities, Toren could have been killed outright. Glancing at the two empty-eyed Nagas soldiers standing guard at the door, he shuddered. Even worse, he could have been one of the ones first converted.
Instead he’d been allowed to live, to continue his research and inflict his findings on the hapless souls that Lord Nor brought to the compound whole and took away completely altered, minions to populate his hideous army.
Unable to resist, Toren stared at the figure in the next room, watching as the man rubbed slow circles into the center of his chest. He’d noticed that this one repeated that ritual after every procedure. And although it was taking longer after each episode, within time, the man's biorhythms steadied. Was there a connection?
Toren shook his head, turning his attention back to his work. He didn’t have time to ponder such questions.
But for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about this one who so intrigued him. For some reason, Toren wondered if maybe, just maybe, he might actually be able to help one of them, before it was too late.
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To be continued...
