Table of Contents
From Part 2:She’d thought she knew everything there was to know about Clark Kent. What a joke. The red and blue Spandex right in front of her made a mockery of her certainty.
Clark Kent didn’t know how lucky he was. If she wasn’t invisible to him, inaudible to him, she’d let him know exactly how she felt about his lies, his deceit. By the time she was finished with him he’d be grateful that she was dead.
Dead. Everything around her faded away as the truth dawned. She was dead because she’d pushed Clark out of the way of a bullet which would have hit him. Would have killed him. And instead it had hit and killed her.
Only it wouldn’t have killed Clark. He was Superman. He was invulnerable. Nothing but Kryptonite could kill him.
She hadn’t saved his life at all.
She’d died for nothing.
*********
Now read on...Capone and his cohorts knew how to make themselves hard to find. He’d been searching for almost an hour so far and was still coming up with a big fat zero. With any other villain, he’d suspect lead shielding or something along those lines, but he’d seen how these resurrected gangsters had reacted to Superman. They’d been disbelieving when bullets had bounced off him. And when he’d taken flight they’d acted as if they were seeing things. Unless they’d done an awful lot of research in the meantime, they didn’t know enough about him to protect themselves from him.
Which was good. Because he didn’t intend to give up until they were safely in custody and Clyde Barrow was charged with Lois’s murder.
It wouldn’t even begin to compensate for all he’d lost tonight. But seeing Barrow behind bars and facing a life sentence in prison would give him some small sense of satisfaction. It would allow him to feel that at least he’d done something for Lois.
The story of her murder would be on the front page of tomorrow’s Planet. In fact, the early editions were probably already on the street. He didn’t want to see it. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to read about Lois’s death in black and white. Didn’t want to see a photograph of her on the front page, vibrant and beautiful as he knew her to be. Didn’t want to read the obituary Perry had said he was going back to the newsroom to write.
Perry had asked him if he wanted to contribute to the obit, to include some of his own memories of Lois both as a reporter and as a friend. But he’d refused. He wasn’t ready for that yet. In time, yes, he would want to contribute his own thoughts and recollections about her, in whatever forum was appropriate. But not now. The pain was too raw, too new.
He didn’t even want to think about going into work in the morning. Picking up the threads of their current investigations - the gangsters, the latest rumours of scandal on the city council, their long-running research into Intergang - without Lois working alongside him. Partnerless, for the first time in over a year.
There was so much he’d miss about working with Lois. Her acute intellect. Her sharp wit. Her sudden flashes of inspiration. The way she could piece together seemingly-disparate clues and come up with a solution out of nowhere. Her habit of reaching and arriving at bizarre conclusions, some of which actually happened to be dead right.
There would be reminders of her everywhere in the newsroom. Everywhere in the city. Even in his own apartment. There was a sweatshirt in his bottom drawer he’d lent her to sleep in the last time they’d watched videos until late in the night and she’d been too tired to drive home. It still carried her scent.
Could he even bear to stay -
What was that?
There. Directly below, in that old warehouse... yes, he thought he’d recognised that blonde hair! And where Bonnie Parker was the others couldn’t be far away. He dropped down to hover over the building - Old North Road, he observed. A couple of seconds’ study confirmed for him that everyone he wanted was there. All four gangsters were present and correct, and armed, of course. There was another man, too, apparently confined to a sectioned-off room full of lab equipment. That had to be their pet scientist, the man who had somehow brought the gangsters back to life in the first place.
Clark’s lips twisted. He couldn’t wait to get his hands on the man. What kind of idiot was he? Was he insane? He obviously needed to be locked up for his own good. Why on earth had he thought it was a good idea to resurrect dangerous, ruthless criminals like those? Who was his next target? Lex Luthor?
Bile rose in Clark’s throat. This so-called scientist - Emil Hamilton, he and Lois had figured out - was responsible for Lois’s death. If he’d never meddled with DNA and cloning in the first place, then none of this would have ever happened. No resurrected murdering gangsters. No need for either of them to visit a speakeasy to find Al Capone. No Dillinger to hit on Lois. And no Clyde Barrow to murder her.
As he was about to swoop down into the warehouse, a payphone on the corner caught his eye. Perfect. Nothing like a bit of police backup when criminals needed to be taken into custody.
It was all too easy in the end. Though, of course, Capone and his fellow mobsters hadn’t a clue how to deal with Superman. Seconds after bursting into the warehouse, Clark had the four of them trussed up and ready for Henderson to take away. Then it was time to deal with Hamilton.
Three swift paces took him to the entrance to the makeshift laboratory. The door was locked, but one quick wrench took care of that. He flung the door wide and immediately saw Hamilton cowering in a corner, arms wrapped protectively about himself.
“You’d better come out of there,” Clark said, unable to keep the coldness out of his voice.
Hamilton’s head shot up. An expression of supreme relief came over his face. “Superman! Oh, thank god! I thought I’d never get out of here!”
Clark gestured for the scientist to exit the laboratory. “It’s safe out there. Your clones are all tied up and the police are on their way.” He looked away and his gaze fell on the assortment of vats, tubes, chemicals and other paraphernalia in the room, and his lip curled. How could anyone be so irresponsible as to resurrect dead people...
Resurrect. Dead. People.
Lois. Lois. Was... A. Dead. Person.
His breath caught. He tuned out everything around him as he focused on the faint whisper of hope which had just crawled into his brain.
Slowly, he turned and faced Hamilton again. “Could your technique work - ”
He broke off. Hamilton had rushed towards the largest vat. As Clark watched in dawning horror, the professor pushed it over and into a collection of tubes, glass bottles and other assorted equipment. Before he could even blink, there was a minor explosion.
“Good riddance to that!” Hamilton exclaimed. He grabbed a document of some sort and threw it onto the flames.
“Wait! What are you doing?” Clark strode over and pulled the other man back. He stared helplessly at the mess, frantically trying to work out what he could do to fix it. “You’ve destroyed it!”
“Yes! Of course! Don’t you see? I was so wrong! I should never have done this! Now no-one else can do what I did.” He turned and smiled up at Clark. “See? I’ve burned my manuscript too. No-one else can follow my technique.”
Clark bit back an agonised scream. “But -”
But what? What could he say? What could
Superman say? That he wanted to make his own clone?
Angry, frustrated,
devastated, he closed his eyes. His shoulders slumped. It had been a crazy idea, anyway. The idea of a desperate man. Did he really want a clone Lois? Was he so unable to come to terms with the fact that she was dead that he’d be willing to interfere with nature to that degree? What right did he have to do that?
He had no right to do that - no right even to contemplate it. And how would the clone-Lois feel if he’d managed to do it? What would she think of him? How would she feel about being an exact copy of someone else? That she only
existed as a replacement for someone else?
Hamilton’s actions made perfect sense. Of course it did. Destroying everything was absolutely the right thing to do. Clark couldn’t argue with that.
Slowly, he released Professor Hamilton and moved away from the scene of destruction, ushering the man out into the front of the warehouse to wait for the police. The small fire in the laboratory would burn itself out; he didn’t need to take care of it in any way. And it was right that no-one else should be able to clone irresponsibly.
Except that, for one wonderful, unbelievable second, he’d thought there was a way he could have Lois back.
Painful reality had come crashing back down only too quickly. That was never going to happen. Nothing could change the fact that Lois was dead.
*********
Bitterness tainted the satisfaction Lois felt as she watched the police bundle the gangsters into their van. Sure, her murderer was going to face justice. But it changed nothing. She had still lost her life. She was still stuck in this limbo somewhere between life and... nothingness.
Watching Superman in action, knowing that he was Clark, had been a revelation. She’d known, of course, what Superman was capable of. She’d seen him use his powers many times. But seeing
Clark use them was so very different. This was her partner, the ordinary guy, the farmboy from Kansas she’d worked beside for well over a year. This was her best friend. This was the man who was mourning her death.
This was her Clark who was also Superman.
She’d had a lot of time to think while he’d been searching the city and she’d had nothing to do apart from follow him around. It was all very well being mad at him for never telling her the truth about himself. She even had a right to be pretty fed up that she’d got herself killed saving someone who hadn’t needed to be saved. But it had slowly dawned on her that this had never been a straightforward situation.
Why had he never told her? That had been her first, wounded, angry question. Obviously he hadn’t trusted her. Hadn’t really seen her as his best friend; not the way she’d considered him her very dearest, closest, indispensable friend. And that also meant that he couldn’t possibly love her. Not the way he’d claimed, either back when she was seeing Lex or an hour or so ago out on his balcony.
But then rationality had started to temper her initial hurt, furious leap to conclusions. Why would Clark tell her? Had he ever told anyone about himself? What were the consequences of his secret getting out? What had he to fear about
her in particular finding out that he was Superman? How, in fact, had she reacted to Superman ever since she’d met him, in contrast to her reaction to Clark?
She’d had a huge crush on Superman right from the moment she’d first encountered him. Had imagined herself in love with him - and had rubbed her feelings for his alter ego in Clark’s face far more times than any friend should. She’d made clear her preference for Superman. Had compared the two men on many occasions, with Clark coming up wanting. Had even rejected Clark’s declaration of love, only to follow it with her own declaration of love to Superman.
No wonder he’d never told her. No wonder he obviously hadn’t thought he had any reason to.
What
was a wonder was that he had still been her friend. Still cared about her. Still
loved her.
Because she hadn’t deserved him.
And, once she’d pushed aside her initial gut reaction, she’d known that she could doubt that he’d loved her. Still loved her. His grief was unmistakable. And, knowing
Clark so well, she’d noticed that Superman’s expression hadn’t changed from the grimness she’d seen as he’d taken off from his apartment. His eyes had been dull, even when speaking to Henderson and handing over his prisoners.
There’d also been that very strange interlude when he’d seemed to be fighting with that mad scientist over the cloning equipment. As if he hadn’t wanted Hamilton to destroy it. Though that didn’t make sense. Clark had to feel exactly the way she did about that - that the cloning had been a terrible, criminal mistake, for which Hamilton deserved to be held accountable. Surely now it would be obvious to anyone that cloning was a crazy idea? Especially using it as a means of bringing people back to life...
Wait.
Could that be what Clark had been thinking? Had he been imagining bringing
her back to life?
If she’d been alive, her heart would surely have stopped beating.
Clark could have resurrected her! She could have had her life back! She could have had another chance to do things right this time... including her relationship with Clark.
But that wasn’t going to happen. She’d seen the scientist destroy his equipment. And she’d seen the stricken, devastated expression on Clark’s face as he’d watched.
Oh, Clark...He was in the air again. And, without any conscious effort at all on her part, she was following him. What was that? Maybe she really was tied to him, somehow. Maybe she was flying because he could fly. That had to be it. It was all one horrible cosmic joke. She was cursed to be Clark’s invisible shadow. And it was a curse. Being forced to be with the man she loved, unable to talk to him, to touch him, even to have him know that she was there...
Within seconds, they were both landing on the balcony of his apartment. He walked into his bedroom; she was right behind him. He spun again and in less than the blink of an eye was standing there dressed in jeans and a T-shirt. Superman’s suit had simply disappeared.
How the heck did he
do that?
And there he was. Clark, dressed in exactly the same style as she’d seen him on so many non-work occasions. Superman really was an ordinary man.
The same ordinary man she’d rejected all those months ago. The same ordinary man whom she’d told she’d still love
if he were just an ordinary man. No wonder he’d told her he couldn’t believe her.
He’d crossed to his nightstand. Getting ready for bed, she assumed, and part of her felt awkward. She shouldn’t be here. She was invading his privacy - had already invaded it in far too many ways. And if he was about to prepare for sleep -
But he was opening the nightstand drawer. Taking something out. She moved closer to see what he was holding. It was a framed photograph - the same photograph which she had in a frame in her own apartment.
The two of them together at the Kerth Awards. Her hair up, with strands loosely trailing around her shoulders. The long dress she was wearing complemented Clark’s tuxedo perfectly. And he looked magnificent. Tall, broad-shouldered, lean and handsome. A brilliant smile on his face as he held his award and gazed down at the woman on his arm.
It was as if she were seeing his face in that photograph for the first time. The expression in his eyes as he looked at her was unmistakable. How could she not have known that he still loved her?
His finger traced her face through the glass. “Oh, Lois...”
The lump was back, making it impossible for her to swallow. How unfair was this! She couldn’t just be dead, could she? She had to be here, watching her best friend in agony without being able to do one
damn thing to comfort him!
Of course, if she’d known he was Superman she wouldn’t have been dead in the first place...
The painful lump had a bitter taste.
She stepped backwards, wanting to put some distance between herself and the pain on Clark’s face. Not looking where she was going, she stumbled and fell. And, as she scrambled to her feet again, her hand closed around something solid. A shoe.
She pulled a face as she waited for her fingers to melt right through it. But they didn’t.
Wait... now she could touch things?
What was this? Some sort of ghost-apprenticeship where she learned the skills on the job? First, just being there; then learning how to follow your target around; then being able to pick things up so you could start to haunt him more effectively? She shook her head. This was insane.
But... Her bitter mood began to evaporate as a thought occurred to her. This had possibilities.
She glanced quickly around the room. How could she attract his attention? And then her gaze fell on the perfect item. She’d wondered where that had got to. It must have fallen onto the floor that morning she’d come to pick Clark up for an early meeting and, because she’d had a coffee at his place, she’d gone into his bedroom to touch up her lipstick at his dressing-table.
The question was, would she be able to use it? Her hand inched towards it. And her fingers closed around it without melting through it. Partial success. And that felt good. Now, all she had to do was uncap it and use it.
The process was fiddly at first. Ghost-fingers, for some reason, weren’t as flexible or as dexterous as her human ones had been. But after a few seconds the cap was off and she was ready. The mirror was the perfect palate.
She hadn’t even thought about what she’d write, but the words just came to her.
CLARK KENT, YOU ARE SO DEAD.Lois winced immediately. Bad choice of words.
She was dead. And she had absolutely no doubt whatsoever about the sincerity of Clark’s grief. Or the depth of it.
She hesitated, looking around for something to wipe it off with. But Clark was already looking over in the direction of the mirror. And he was staring in utter disbelief.
Gripping the lipstick tightly, she prepared to write another line.
“Who’s there?” Clark was striding to the dressing-table now, peering around intently as he searched for the writer of the messages. “Is this some sort of a joke?
Then he halted, frowning. She knew why. She was writing again, directly underneath her first line. And, from Clark’s perspective, the words were just appearing on the mirror, as if by magic.
I’M SORRY I SHOULDN’T HAVE SAID THAT.“Who’s doing this?” Now he sounded angry. A tiny tic was working in his jaw and he tugged at his glasses. That was a habit Lois was very familiar with. It was something she’d seen Clark do so many times that it was as much
him as was the blue cotton shirt he wore sometimes when not at work, or the bad puns she pretended to hate so much. A nervous habit, she’d assumed. Something he was barely aware that he did, she’d thought. Now, though, it had new meaning as she watched him scan the area around the dressing-table with great care and attention... looking over the rim of his glasses as he did so.
X-ray vision. And, obviously, it didn’t work through his glasses.
He was pacing around as well, and using his hands to feel the empty air around him. Odd that he would consider looking for someone he couldn’t see - but then, maybe not. After all, one of their first stories together had involved a gang of invisible bank robbers. The secret had been suits designed to render the wearers completely invisible. If she remembered correctly, even Superman hadn’t been able to see them.
She skipped out of the way as he came very close to brushing against her. For all she knew, his hand might pass right through her, but just in case it didn’t she wasn’t anxious for him to touch her. It wasn’t as if she could talk to him to explain her presence, and she didn’t want him accidentally throwing her over his balcony or anything.
He sighed and then turned back to the mirror, watching it in apparent expectation. Okay. Well, she hadn’t exactly given him a lot to go on. But neither had she left herself much space on the mirror. Reaching out, she tried to clean a corner with her hand, but only ended up making a mess.
Clark moved. He disappeared into the bathroom, returning a moment later with a towel which he used to clean the mirror. When he’d finished, it still retained a reddish sheen, but at least she could write on it.
He stood back and waited.
She thought, then wrote.
I’M HERE, CLARK. I’M DEAD, BUT I’M HERESilence.
He stared at what she’d written, and she could actually hear his breath catch. And she saw the precise moment when the penny dropped. His eyes widened and, when he spoke, unbelievably, his voice shook.
“Lois?”
***********
...tbc
