As promised... another part. Though I do have to say that this is also a difficult part. Just hang in there though!
Thanks again to all reading and a special thanks to everyone posting feedback. It really means a lot to me.
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Funny the things you tell yourself in order to keep going. Clark had decided there was a way out of this mess and that he’d find it sooner or later. Only trouble was sooner had become later… a lot later.
The guard came by earlier and had graciously told him that it was October 20th. He’d been here for six months! That had only served to make his outlook even bleaker. So now he sat slumped in the corner, miserable, cold and afraid.
What must his parents think? And Lois? Oh sweet Lois. He missed her so. The ache for her was nearly unbearable those first weeks. Though painful, he could at least think about her now and still be able to breathe.
<<Will I ever see you again?>> He smiled as he remembered their last night in his bed. Those thoughts would be his only company now. And he’d ached every day for not resolving their standing argument.
Clark had had plenty of time to think. Hell, there was nothing else to do. He frequently thought of much differently he could have handled things with Lois. He could picture their entire conversation in his mind. He’d have agreed that telling Luthor would have been like flaunting their relationship in his face, something he never wanted to do. He would have told her that he understood her reluctance in telling everyone about their relationship until she was comfortable. After all, who was he to judge someone wanting to keep things to themselves. He’d kept a huge secret his entire life.
There were other times his thoughts revolved around who had sent him to this place. Obviously it was someone with a great many connections and plenty of influence. That automatically made him think of Luthor. Not only did he have the means to pull something like this off, he was also evil enough to do it.
So, had Luthor found out about his relationship with Lois? He would have been angry, but would he have been angry enough to do this? Clark immediately answered in the positive. Lex Luthor was the type of man who did not like to lose. He’d set his sights on Lois and to have her simple partner win her affections would have infuriated him.
Clark was afraid for Lois. If Luthor really had set all this up, what must he be doing to her now? Had he told her it was he who took away her beloved? Just to torment her? Was this all part of some huge plan to get her back into his bed?
Wait! He remembered a conversation he and Lois had had in bed that last night. She made the comment about not allowing her feelings to surface for fear of losing control, until him. Did that mean she hadn’t been intimate with Luthor? He sure hoped so. He also hoped she was safe from that monster’s influence now.
He closed his eyes, squeezing out the pain being locked away like this was causing him. He needed to figure a way out of all of this. He needed to get back to Lois.
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Being an ordinary man was not all it was cracked up to be. Why had he dreamed of that for so long? The super powers that had often been his greatest obstacle in life would now be his blessing. Oh, how he wished he’d done things differently.
He should have told Lois the truth. She shouldn’t have had to figure out such a thing the way she had. Or had he imagined that whole exchange? He was certain that glint in her eyes was recognition. Her breathed sigh of disbelief certainly meant she’d figured out his secret. If so, what must she think now? Could she and his parents believe he wasn’t coming home on his own accord? Or did they believe him hurt and without his powers; unable to get home?
Poor Perry. Clark was sure the man would feel guilty because it was his tip that had sent them to South America. The old editor had probably turned the investigative world upside down to get him home.
And Jimmy. He would be terrified for his friend. With the abilities the researcher possessed on the computer, Clark was positive it would have only taken Jimbo a matter of days to get to the bottom of all this mess. Had Luthor really covered his tracks that well?
Clark automatically answered that with an affirmative yes. He’d been investigating Luthor for months and had yet to link him to anything more shady than a parking ticket. Evidence gleaned with his powers would have never held up in court, so Clark was forced to try to dig out the dirt the old fashioned way. Only there appeared to be no dirt to dig. Luthor was good. He knew how to hide and hide well. It also appeared he could do the same with someone else.
Though he wasn’t sure this had been the philanthropist’s doing, it was so much easier to lay the blame on someone. A man could only sit in solitude for so long before he started to lose his mind. Clark was fast approaching that point and Luthor was the perfect target on which to direct his anger and bitterness.
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Same thoughts, different day, Clark mused as he settled on the floor against the wall. He’d been served up his usual allotment of slush for the day and had spent the afternoon roaming his cell in hopes of finding a loose stone or two. When he failed, once again, to find anything that could help him to escape, he gave up and decided to sit and think, just like he did every day now.
He was staring at the blank, gray wall as usual when he heard the small door on the bottom of his cell door open. It wasn’t time to gather his waste bucket. What was going on? His eyes widened when he saw what had been pushed through the opening.
Clark scrambled across the floor, staring down at the flat book and the lone pencil. Paper! Glorious paper! Who had brought these to him?
“Thank you,” Clark cried out to his ‘angel of mercy’. As he settled against the wall in the small stream of sunlight, he thought it funny to be so happy over paper and a pencil. But with these he could talk to Lois and to his parents, even if it was only here in this dungeon and in his own mind. For the first time since he’d been locked up, Clark cried softly. Several minutes later, he wiped his face and started writing.
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‘It’s cold. Cold all the time. The guard told me yesterday it’s May. May! I’ve been here over a year. It seems unbelievable, yet I know the reality of it all.’
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‘Being a normal man… That’s what I’ve always wanted. How naïve was I? Normal… it’s taught me just what humility is. It’s taught me that any man can be broken. It’s taught me just how fragile our existence is.’
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‘Sometimes the cold is so unbearable. My bones ache. I lost feeling in my feet months ago. I was given a pair of thin pants, an even thinner shirt, and a pair of slip on canvas shoes when they took my clothes. The shoes seem to hold the cold even more. And the clothes do little to help. So I just sit and shiver. I do think I’m beginning to get used to it though. I hardly notice temperature changes any more. It’s just cold all the time.’
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‘I have to sharpen my pencil on the rocks. Never thought I’d miss a sharpener. Whoever it was that gave me that first pencil and notebook brings me another every few weeks. Sometimes I run out long before he gets here with the new ones. I use that time to try and remember what everyone looks like.
‘You wouldn’t recognize me. My hair is long and filthy. Hell, I’m filthy. I haven’t bathed since I’ve been here. How long is that now? Oh yeah. Today is December 20, 1995. I’ve been here two years, eight months, almost to the day. I finally got smart and asked the guard for the date about three months ago. Since then I’ve been keeping track. Not much point though. (me laughs hysterically)
‘I’m not getting out of here, am I? This is where I will die. Damn! What must you all think? I pray they told you I was already dead. I couldn’t stand to know any of you have hurt each day not knowing what was going on. I miss you so much…’
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‘My sweet, beautiful Lois… I bet you’ve grown more beautiful over the years. Honey, I’ve tried to remember what you look like. Nowadays all I can see when I try to picture you are those gorgeous eyes. But your touch… I can still feel that even through the unbearable cold that finally faded into numbness. The only time I feel alive at all is when I think of your touch.
‘Do you still think of me?’
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‘You won’t believe what happened today. The guard spoke to me! Not the one that tells me the date, but the other one… the one that brings me the paper and pencils. He told me ‘Good morning’. Can you believe it?!’
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‘Wow! My ‘angel of mercy’ has been a guard in this hellhole for over fifty years. He was only twenty-two years old when he ‘sold his soul to the devil’. Whatever that means. He said we’d talk more later. Hope it doesn’t take three weeks like it did this last time.’
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‘He won’t tell me his name, just that he’s a monster. He’d stayed watch over men that he knew were innocent. Men have died here from lack of food, water, and from the unsanitary conditions. To him they were nameless souls he never took the time to acknowledge. So why me?’
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‘The guard hasn’t talked to me in two months. I’m beginning to think I imagined the whole thing.
‘Mom, Dad… I guess you’re both pretty disappointed in me. I should have had enough sense to get myself out of this mess. I was thinking of you. I didn’t want whoever did this to hurt you or Lois. When I realized it was time to make a move, I couldn’t.
‘I’ve tried to get out. I really have. I had thought maybe a few loose stones could be pried up and used to dig. Digging every day would be better than just sitting here… No loose stones.
‘No stones to use for a hold to scour the wall to the small opening about fifteen feet off the floor either. I can see a tiny speck of the sky, just enough to drive me crazy with wanting. I want so badly just to see that beautiful, blue blanket again. I would willingly live out my days as just an ordinary man if I could do that one thing.’
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‘This situation seems so surreal. I have been here for over four years! How the hell is that even possible?
‘I wonder sometimes what happened to Clark Kent on the outside. Do you all know he’s alive and suffering so miserably? I would think not at this stage. And for everyone’s sanity, I would certainly hope not.’
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‘My ‘angel of mercy’ seems to have disappeared. I haven’t heard from him in… nearly two and half years now. I still receive paper and a fresh pencil every other month without fail. Maybe he convinced someone else to be a little compassionate. I just wish he’d talk to me again. I was beginning to think he might actually help me out of here.’
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‘I have over thirty of these notebooks now. Sometimes I write things I remember from growing up. Sometimes I only write one word: Lois. I have letters to you, my dearest love. I have letters to my folks. I’ve even written to myself. I’ve drawn a few hundred pictures and spent even more time just lying on the hard floor staring at the ceiling.
‘Sometimes I talk to myself, just to hear a voice in this unbearable silence. I sing, I laugh, I cry… Lois, I can still hear your voice the one time I heard you sing at the Metro Club. That was beautiful… something I will never hear again.
‘You have no idea what isolation can do to a man. I have thoughts of killing everyone who had anything to do with putting me in this hellhole. I have thoughts of hurting the people I love for not finding me and getting me out of here. I even entertain thoughts of taking my own life to end this suffering.
‘I tried once, you know? To kill myself. I took my shirt off and wrapped it around my neck, determined to hold it tight until I lost my air and slipped into unconsciousness. All I did was succeed in giving myself a horrible headache. I threw up for two days. Haven’t tried to hang myself again.’
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‘I found out today why my ‘angel of mercy’ hasn’t talked to me again. After all this time, another guard finally spoke to me. The older guard died… over a year ago. Before that he was ill and had to quit work. It seems he was known to slip the prisoners things like paper and pencils to help them pass the time. A friend of his has continued his quest out of respect for his lost comrade. These people seem to be loyal to one another if nothing else.’
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‘Today is February 28, 2002. 2002! Wow! A new century has dawned. Was there all kinds of paranoia around the turn of the century like folks were predicting? Bet it was something to see.
‘Oh yeah… Today is also my birthday. I am 35 years old. In April, I will have been here for nine years. Nine long, excruciating years. It just amazes me I haven’t lost my mind… or at least much of it.
‘I can tell you that being here has changed me considerably. Mom, Dad, the gentle son you once knew no longer exists. Lois, honey, your compassionate, loving partner is gone forever. Clark Kent really is dead. The only thing left is this sorry ass man that writes and talks to himself to keep some kind of presence of mind.
‘I do hope the best for you all. I hope you’ve moved on, grieved for my passing and built a new life without me. They say time heals all wounds. In my case, it has created those far too deep to ever heal.
‘I know I will only leave this place in my death. I’ve accepted that. After my passing and one day after all of yours, I hope we’re united again. I love you all.’
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‘It took a while for the guard to talk to me again. He slipped me a new book three days ago and told me hello. He told me not to worry. Warren would soon set me free. I don’t know about that, but I sure wish someone would.’
tbc...
