I posted this intro elsewhere, last spring, and got some very helpful advice on POV which I've tried to apply.
I put the story aside with the summer but now that winter's come I've dusted it off.
Any suggestions or criticisms re style, charcaterization, etc would be very helpful. I'm fine with nitpicks, espeically if they catch typos to which I'm blind as a bat. I've got the story outlined and am now wondering, if, having read this fragment, there is any interest in my continuing it.
cc m
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New Story: A Fine Mess
Chap 1: October 1995
It's not always smooth sailing being a top investigative reporter. Sometimes it's kind of choppy. For Lois Lane, as she twisted and strained against the rough twine binding her to a rigid post at the sea end of an ancient fishing pier which skewed haphazardly across the sands of Smugglers Beach, now, was one of those times.
At least, a couple of hours ago this stretch of sand had been a beach; now it was the Atlantic Ocean and its cold waters were lapping at Lois's kneecaps, the rising tide promising to race a little higher before much more time passed. Once more Lois threw back her head and screamed for help, her plea swallowed by the howling wind as her voice cracked from the strain of an hour shouting, yelling, trying desperately to attract attention in the dark night.
No one on the beach - who went to the beach in October?? Probably not even God.
Taking a deep breath, Lois began to bargain with Him, on the off chance He might be paying attention. That is, of course, if He existed. Still, at this moment she was choosing to believe He might possibly exist.
<God, if you get me out of this, I swear I'll be good. Behave. Do volunteer work. Spend more time with my mother. Give up chocolate.>
Grimacing, she pushed her wrists against the thick rope, only too well aware that it was tearing her flesh, but determined to loosen the knots or to find a position that would allow her to pull one hand free. She could get out of this! She'd been in rougher situations before. Lots worse. Besides, she had her pride and she didn't need help. Not from anyone.
<Okay, yeah, and I'll be civil to Ralph. But, God, I will not, not now, not ever, be nice to Clark Kent/Superman! Him, I'll kill. Please, God, just get me out of this, give me enough time to kill Clark Kent. You owe me that. It won't take me long - I just have to find a wee bit of kryptonite. That bullet I dug out of him last year... if I'd been smart... But noooo... I had to save his life. Just how dumb am I? .... Coulda kept the bullet... But what did I do? Waste money on a ticket to Bermuda so I could 'lose' the damn thing. That's what I did. Just how galatically stupid...>
Yes! She could feel the rope loosening. She was positive. Frantically she continued twisting, trying to pull her body farther around the post. Maybe there was a protruding nail somewhere - she could use it to work at fraying the rope that bound her ankles or hands. Try not to think about the pain. Think about anything else. What she would do when she got free...
<Okay, okay, once I get the kryptonite, where shall I use it? His heart? No, no, that won't work; he doesn't have a heart. The Man of Steel. Steel cold. So where then? His [xxx]? Yeah - maybe.>
The relentless Atlantic inched higher, cold waves icing her thighs, blurring her mind as she fought desperately against the darkness creeping at the fringes of her consciousness. Inhaling deeply, she struggled to focus, grateful now for the sharp smell of salt water, even the pain.
<No, no - I couldn't do that... couldn't hurt him ... couldn't ever...>
It started to rain and she raised her head, finally understanding her fate, and she started to cry. Slow, involuntary tears which she tried defiantly to sniff away. Then chest-heaving sobs as her heart broke. Gulping for air, she failed to control them as she screamed her rage, her pain and, finally, her despair. That she was about to die, that she'd been so stupid to get herself trapped like this, and that he'd told her he didn't want to be with her...
Now the water had reached her waist and she was shivering, exhausted from crying and colder, numbingly colder, than she'd ever been in her life. She was going to drown and dimly she knew it. Knew her life was ebbing slowly. If only she could be warm...
Fragments of memories flitted before her - Perry's wonderful, expansive smile, Jimmy's eager friendship, her sister's teasing. Years ago, Lucy, eight years old, hugging her... You're the best, Lois. You're the best... the best.... Her mother, young - she'd forgotten how young her mother had been - how had that happened? - beautiful, bending low, picking her up and waltzing her around the living room as violins played.
What was the music? Joyful, lilting, enchanting her while her mother's arms raised her high. What was it? She couldn't quite remember the title, but the rhythm grew louder, throbbing in her ears, the living room a whirl of fragments, white static blurring perception, and then finally soothing her as slowly she slipped into unconsciousness.
At least she had not called his name.
^^^^^^^
As the dark sea was encircling Lois Lane's shoulders, Perry White stepped out of the elevator, and paused to look across the bullpen. It was after midnight, the graveyard shift, and the room was pretty quiet, a few staffers isolated at work stations, hunched over glowing terminals. Wryly, he thought that if this had been twenty years ago, cigarettes would have dangled from their lips. Hell, if this had been twenty years ago he'd be home in his own bed right now, not looking to hunker down on the couch in his office. He unloosened the tie of his tuxedo - yet another press dinner - and walked the short distance to his office. As he did he passed Lois's desk and frowned. Things had soured between her and Clark Kent, and once again Perry had seen that stony reserve on Lois's face. What had gone wrong he had no idea, but hoped they'd work it out, hoped they'd do better than he and Alice had.
But those two kids sure had been avoiding each other the past few days. Then there was that odd request for unused vacation time that Lois had made at the beginning of the week. He couldn't remember the last time she'd taken a straight three weeks and so, ignoring the warning in his gut, he'd agreed. She wouldn't be in tomorrow.
A road trip, she'd said, in search of the perfect spa. She was probably on her way right now. When had women started going to spas, anyway?
Meanwhile Clark Kent had retreated into the background, not his usual upbeat self. In fact, he'd been pretty scarce around the bull pit - avoiding Lois Lane as much as she'd been avoiding him.
Exhausted, Perry closed the blinds of his office, then turned toward the couch.
^^^^^
At about the same moment as the Atlantic Ocean was chilling Lois Lane's rib cage, an exhausted Superman jerked his head up, caught by a tremor of panic. What was it? He stilled for a moment, trying to get a sense of what had alarmed him but then the frightened cries of a child snapped him back to where he was, compelling him to concentrate on digging through tons of rubble to reach her, and then to rescue others who had been trapped by the black surprise of collapsing walls. But always with the sense that he was missing someone, someone whom he could not reach, who needed him. The cries of children. The sobbing in his heart and the feel of cold water.
Work slowly, he reminded himself. Slowly. You'll find her. Too fast and you'll destabilize this mess even more. Narrowing his eyes, he willed himself to see through the dense molecular structure of square cut blocks which had, a few days ago, formed the walls of people's homes. Then his eyes caught sight of a few drops of blood, signalling the presence of life.
Yeah, over there, a few feet in front of him, trapped beneath a couple of dark oak beams which now supported a chaotic jumble of stone. Not here, not here, she's not here! But, meticulously, ignoring the anxious whispering in his soul, he pulled the debris away, and then found a child, dark eyes looking at him wide-eyed, blood trickling from a gash in his leg. He was so tiny, Superman thought, as he scooped him up in his arms, then strode toward an eager man, his arms outstretched to secure the small form of his child.
But, still, the echo of that panicked voice ... the sense that he was about to lose everything that he held most precious...
"Superman, over here!"
Later, he stood beside a hollow-eyed relief worker and knew that the pain he saw in the man's eyes reflected his own. Exhausted and feeling more alone than he'd ever felt in his life, he flew back to Metropolis, sensing that he had somehow missed someone. Struggling to quell the hollowness in his heart, he sped above the city, steeling himself against the impulse to visit her apartment, taking no pleasure in the dark night and the metallic stars. An automaton.
He'd been gone three days.
^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
Even the chill of the water against Lois Lane's slumped chin had failed to restore her consciousness. Then, the sudden sweep of a powerful flashlight illuminated the dark hair which had fallen forward to shroud her face.
Bill Henderson swore slowly, and then turned around. "Bring the boat along the left side of the pier. We've got a body here, Frank."
Cautiously, the cruiser rumbled alongside the long, wooden structure, and Frank Nordstrum, protected from the cold by his wetsuit, climbed overboard and then slipped into the water. Submerging, he unsheathed his knife, and sliced the rope tying the woman's ankles and wrists to the post which supported the pier. He wasn't sure if she was alive or not. No sign of any wounds that he could see. Her body was limp, so if she was dead, it hadn't been for long. He hoped they hadn't been too late.
The two officers helped haul the woman's body into the boat, pulling her over its side, trying not to notice that she was nude. They carried her to the padded bench at the stern where, gently, they laid her on her back. Henderson shone his flashlight on her face.
"Lois Lane." He reached for a blanket and covered her.
^^^^^
Superman came to earth amid the trash cans in the dark alley that ran behind Clinton Street, a few steps from Clark Kent's apartment. For a brief moment he stood still, imprisoned by a sense of dread, an ominous fear that he was in the wrong place. Immobilized, he couldn't spin out of the suit. Couldn't take the brief walk to the darkened apartment. Raising his arm, he willed himself upward and then he was in the sky methodically patrolling, searching, finding people who needed his help, then retreating from their gratitude, slipping anonymously back into the night sky, looking for the next crisis.
Ever since the powers had started to develop, back when he'd been an adolescent, he'd kept asking himself if he belonged here. If he was meant to have a life here. Now he knew: he was not. He was too different.
Maybe this was it then, the only answer there ever could be - he was here, on this planet - and there were criminals, emergencies, disasters.... Not the answer he'd been hoping for, dreaming of, he thought wryly, but the only possible answer. Helping had to be more important than anything else. More important than how he felt, what his dreams were. He was Superman.
He did not sleep that night.
……………
tbc
edited for non-PG content
