Last Time

With the blur of black and white images across the screen and scent of new fabric in her nostrils, she allowed her head drop into the cushy softness of the couch and closed her eyes to let sleep claim her.

Now...

Kal waited for this moment, when the sound of her breathing and heartrate were steady indicators that she was sleeping, the signal that he could leave the continent minus the anxiety her consciousness would cause him. The gunrunning in the Congo wouldn’t stop for him to dally with a personal mission. He’d spent as much time as he could between the two projects without making himself look too suspicious, and his subordinates were used to his unusual comings and goings.

This unpredictable aspect of his location was what made them more apt to be obedient, as they never knew if he might be watching them or listening in. Most of them were convinced he had a network of high tech undetectable bugs all over the compound or even on their uniforms when he had occasion to confront one of them out of the compound. Either way, Kal’s apparent omnipotence had earned their fear and respect if not their loyalty.

So he took advantage of this arrangement as a means to disappear often, especially since he had incapacitated the reporter. The few men that still remembered her capture thought he still had her alive in an underground bunker, that only he had access to. The ones he’d scrubbed had their own ideas about his lengthy disappearances and he allowed that those rumors worked for his purposes when he needed to leave and still appear to be in control. However, he was required to be there in person for his update briefing with Lex.

Kal usually kept Luthor apprised of the operation through his subordinates, but was required to make occasional personal update. That everything was going so smoothly ensured him that Luthor would be none the wiser of any his side trips. But now the operation was winding down, or at least, relocating to another part of the globe and Kal decided that it was time to request the sabbatical he’d considered when he’d taken Lane into custody.

They used a secure satellite uplink for communication, which was nearly as personal as a face to face meeting. Eventually, Luthor would want to see him in Metropolis, but for now this was the preferred mode of dialogue for both parties. Knowing the one trick that made Kal an asset in getting rid of informers also made Kal dangerous to be around, thus Luthor tended to avoid meeting alone with him anymore. But Kal was beginning to realize that wouldn’t make much of a difference if he got to any of Luthor’s other lieutenants first. And that plan would have to wait until his other priorities were established.

Kal wondered briefly how to bring up the topic of a furlough. The idea to explain there was a woman involved skittered briefly through his mind, but he shoved the notion back into the secret recesses where it had originated. That would just be another thing Luthor would hold over him. Best to just say he was burned out and see if he could get off the hook for a while.

The beginning of the communication went as to be expected; updates, timetables, and projections of output, with every bit of the façade of a corporate operation. Kal had checked and double-checked all the forecasts himself and was able to present Luthor with the exact information he needed to make immediate decisions on future operations. And as expected, his follow up request for a long furlough was met with probing questions about his purpose, and even the status of his health.

He did well in his excuses, claiming a mental weariness that would be better served for a short while in the Bahamas or some such exotic location, hinting at libertine behavior that Lex would understand and accept.

Of course the depraved b*st*rd caught on right away.

“I concur, Kal, you should have been considering this course of action for a long time,” Lex informed him, “in fact you’re overdue, now that I think about it.” He took some time to prepare and light up a cigar before asking, “How long has it been since you’ve been to Bangkok, my boy?”

Kal grinned licentiously as he replied, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Lex. I might have trouble blending in after last time.”

Lex took a long draw, releasing the smoke in a slow contemplative puff prior to casually suggesting, “What about my island?” He waited the moment it took Kal’s grin to fade, only to press further. “You know there’s all manner of good sport to be had there, without any worries about being recognized or…legally responsible.”

“I doubt there would be anything there that would hold my interest, Lex.” Kal’s outward indifference hid the absolute revulsion that churned in his gut. For the first time in since he could remember, he knew what ‘nauseous’ felt like.

“I suppose the fare *would* seem old and tired to you,” Lex agreed amiably. “Well, maybe that resort in Southern France…” Luthor continued to drone about some exclusive locations that he’d already visited, while Kal listened impassively, nodding occasionally, musing about what might happen if he could reach through the screen and crush Luthor’s head like a tick.

<…why not scrub him?…>

<…I don’t want to see what’s in *his* mind…> Just the idea of mucking around in the deep, dank channels of Luthor's thoughts caused an internal cringe that had him even more motivated to get away from Luthor's tentacles of power.

Toward that end he turned the conversation around to wrapping up the transmission. Lex was in the middle of relaying his next appointed report when the first sharp stab of pain ripped through Kal’s skull. He flinched in surprise more than pain and his reply to a question Lex had presented was interrupted by his choking gasp as he reached up to grasp his temple…and all in clear view of Lex’s monitor.

“Kal?” On his end, Lex sat up and moved in on his camera, as if he could discern anything better that way. “Kal, are you…?

Kal was tensing through the pain, covering his initial reaction as a fluke, instinctively knowing that showing this sort of weakness in front of Lex could be extremely damaging.

“What happened?” Lex inquired, “Did you receive my last transmission?”

“Yeah, I got it, I just…” His eyes went wide as he felt another spasm coming on and he immediately realized that he had to get out of Luthor’s sight. “I think I’ve got to-” He shoved his finger into his ear and dropped his jaw as if he were trying to clear his hearing. “There’s some bad feedback on this end. We may have to pick this up later.”

“Fine, fine.” Lex agreed patronizingly. “I’ll forward the coordinates for the next transaction by midnight eastern over a secure signal. You go take care of that…feedback.” The tone of his last comment was slightly derisive.

None of this meant a damn thing to Kal as another piercing bolt racked through his brain and he had to breath deep to stem the agonized roar that threatened to escape. He muttered some lame departure reply and disconnected the signal just before collapsing out of his chair to his knees, his head gripped in both hands as his teeth clenched in torment. Such pain for him was near forgotten and the tide of unwelcome memories that threatened to spill out as a result was the impetus for him to keep his cool and try to regain his sensibilities.

He knelt motionlessly on the floor still gripping his head, but concentrating on a state of being that took him outside of the pain. The intermittent bolts slowed to dull throbs and he was eventually able to rise back up into his seat. Continuing his concentration exercises, he began to detect a pattern to his spasms, a substance that revealed them not to be pains at all, but sounds, words…shouts…cries for help. His heart faltered with the revelation of what he was hearing.

Lois was hurt…and she was calling for help.

***

Wanda was looking out of the high loft door of the barn, her gaze scrunched by the beam of sunlight as she perused the barnyard spread before her. Though the area wasn’t like any barnyard she could remember. There were no chickens or farm creatures of any kind skittering around below. No piles of manure or hale bales stacked near the lower doors. In fact the only hay she saw was the thin coating of stuff beneath her feet. She scuffed it slightly and watched as tiny motes stirred up by her motion danced in the sunbeam.

“You’re blocking the light.”

She turned her head toward the voice, not immediately locating the source for the shadows so she moved away from the door as requested. Then she saw him. A little boy with coal-black, unruly hair and soft brown eyes, wearing nothing but cut off denim shorts crouched near a small heap of straw, dragging his fingers through the pile as if he was looking for something…

A needle?, she wondered offhandedly.

The sunbeam stretched out toward him, just barely making contact with his shoulder as he worked, but the light didn’t seem to help him in his search and he sighed impatiently before looking up at her helplessly.

“I don’t think it’s here,” he told her.

“Did you lose something?” she asked him with concern, moving to crouch down beside him, her gaze catching the motion of his hands in the straw.

“We both did,” he replied, “but it’s not up here.” He got up and walked to the inside edge of the loft, looking down at the hard packed dirt floor twenty feet or more below. Before Wanda could move to stop him he placed his hands against the loft floor like a gymnast and did a back flip right off the edge.

She leaped after him with a yelp, falling against the floor with her hand stretched out to catch him. As her vision cleared the ledge she was shocked to see he wasn’t there…right below her where he would have fallen. Instead as her panicked view made a harried circuit of the floor below she saw him standing at the far end of the barn, by the stairs to the root cellar.

“Come on,” he called, beckoning with his hand, “I think it’s down here.”

Without knowing how she’d gotten there, she found herself headed down the steps behind him as he entered shadows below. She went slowly. She didn’t know her way around this place well enough yet to go traipsing around in root cellars and the light falling through the stairwell above wasn’t enough to make her feel confident. Before descending completely, she looked up around the railing and her eyes fell on a lantern hung on a hook imbedded in a post. The lamp flashed to life as soon as she grasped the wire handle, but she attributed this to some sort of electronic sensor and carefully moved down the stairs holding the lantern before her.

At the bottom she saw the boy leaning heavily against a homemade workbench, one of his hands covering his face as his harsh breathing filled the small space.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her fingers falling on his bare shoulder.

“Don’t feel…so good,” he muttered in reply as he sunk down to sit at her feet. “It’s in there.”

He was weakly indicating a tarp-covered object against the back wall of the small room. A green glow that may have rivaled Emerald City emanated from beneath the tarp, but she felt drawn to the cover, regardless of her horror movie instincts. While the audience in her head was screaming at her to “GETOUT, GETOUTNOW!” she couldn’t have gone without seeing what was under the tarp if her life depended on it.

She held the lantern high as she approached and heard the boy behind her moan hoarsely as she bent to raise the tarp, but she felt too compelled toward the action at hand to return her attention to him. Grasping the edge she pulled the material up slowly, tensing for the revelation that would appear beneath the darkened surface.

She discovered a packing trunk. A hope chest really, one of those small ones that originated at the foot of a bed of an adolescent female, to follow her to throughout her adult life. Eventually the chest would wind up in storage or an attic until the day the original owner could pass the chest onto another preteen female. This one was carved elaborately in a floral pattern and had the initials “MC” stenciled into the lid. Wanda reached to trace the letters with her fingertips, the tarp crumpling to a pile at her feet as she made physical contact with the wood.

The ear-piercing shriek that emitted from the contact caused her to scream in response and sent her skittering back toward the stairwell. The lantern fell from her slack grip, hitting the floor and spilling kerosene over the dry spattering of straw that littered the ground. She gaped in horror as the flames escaping the broken glass followed the trail of the combustive liquid and began devouring the dusty aged straw as well, turning the floor into a surface of dancing flames.

She turned to take the stairs but recalled the boy and spun back around to retrieve him…only to find a tiny skeleton crumpled at the foot of the table. She screamed again and scrambled for the steps, but her feet kept slipping as if the wood were coated with wax. Forced to use her hands, she reached for the step above her head and cried out as splinters sunk into her palms.

Looking over her shoulder she realized she was no longer in a stairwell, but instead hanging from the inside loft, her feet dangling into empty space below her. She tried to call out for help, but the dry, dusty air in the loft choked her cry down to a gasping squeak. The gushing blood from her wounded palms was making her grip slippery and she knew she was bound to lose her hold any second now.

<…KAL! PLEASE!!…>

<…Lois!…>

<…HELP ME!!..KAL!!…>

***

Kal was aware of his ability to break sound barriers. This rate of speed he usually reserved for his jaunts over the ocean. His flight in response to her cries for help was by far his fastest yet and his appearance in the living room of the new house on the Kent farm was followed up by the sonic boom of his arrival. He was immediately apprised of her location on the couch where she had been jolted up to startled wakefulness, a throw pillow clutched tightly in her white knuckled grasp against her chest.

A dream then, a nightmare actually. He’d flown half the distance of the earth at sound breaking speed for a nightmare. He’d cut off a meeting with Luthor over a bad dream! He sank into the nearest seat, propping his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands. His fingers moved rhythmically against his temples, trying to soothe the lingering affects of her frantic connection.

How was she doing that?

“Kal?”

The hoarse croak she uttered snatched his attention from his brooding contemplation. He took note of the saucer wide eyes and rapid breathing, her need for consolation permeating the space between them like a vapor. He thought he should do something, but was too annoyed by her inadvertent panic to respond. Even more, he was beginning to think he should leave, but he sat there watching her instead, seeing her demeanor evolve in several heartbeats from distressed fright to confused disbelief to clear irritation.

“What are you doing here?” she finally growled.

Her tone was sleep slurred, but her ire was easy to detect and tipped him off balance even more. What did she have to be mad about? She hadn’t had to leave a critical meeting because her brain had a railroad spike in it!

<…coffee…>

But then maybe she was always this grumpy when she woke up from a regular sleep that may have been made worse by a nightmare.

“I’m on the pager for now,” he shrewdly claimed and was smart enough to add, “Do you want some coffee?”

She grimaced and brought her fists up to scrub at her eyes. “I suppose,” she replied past a yawn. “I’m thinking I like coffee.”

He was definitely certain of that, one of the few quirks about her that he’d left alone. “Fake cream and sugar added, and you drink the stuff like water.”

“Okay then, I guess, I’ll have coffee.” She did another one of those stretch things that he was compelled to watch out of the corner of his eye, so he noticed when she flinched and gripped her hands to the small of her back. “I need to head upstairs first though.”

Kal nodded knowingly and made for the kitchen, but her exit from the room was held up at the foot of the stairs. He observed her hesitation from his peripheral view while he made coffee, wondering what was stopping her and thinking to remind her that there was a washroom on this level as well, but when she visibly squared her shoulders and grasped the handrail, he let his speculation rest. After all if there was something she might begin to get anxious about, he could always make another subliminal trip and do some additional changes. Three weeks might not have been enough time to condition her new identity. He’d have to make her an ongoing project. Problem solved.

***

Wanda stared into the basin as she scrubbed her hands methodically under the warm stream, the ring she now wore conspicuously tilting back and forth with the scrubbing motion. She saw those flashes of light against the stone periodically with the movement and she couldn’t help but reminisce how sparkly it had appeared when he’d placed it on her hand the first time.

In the darkness and rain, the lamps that were lighted in the area of the fountain in the park had reflected cheerfully off each moist surface and the rain had provided a misty sparkle of its own. Even when his glasses fogged with humidity, his eyes had been an earnest accompaniment to his request. She couldn’t yet recall exactly what he’d said that evening, even with his retelling, but the whole scene evoked a warmth that tamped down the ire she’d felt in the living room only moments ago.

She cringed internally as she inadvertently reminded herself of her moody awakening. She was certain he’d noticed and hoped her waking up grumpy wasn’t a regular thing. He might get aggravated with it. But then he had to have known. The offer of coffee had been exactly what she had been thinking and the mention had shifted her emotions to a less negative view. There! That was something else she could peg to their relationship. Coffee immediately or Wanda gets icky.

Wanda. That name still felt funny. Wanda Kent no less.

She looked up into the mirror and considered herself. She stared back at herself wide-eyed and pale, a little on the thin side, but ready to fix that as soon as possible, because she had a feeling she liked to eat and her stomach noisily agreed with her.

Wanda Kent likes to eat...chocolate. Oh yeah, definitely chocolate. She chuckled, the face in the mirror mimicking her amusement. As she rinsed the soap from her hands, she stuck her tongue out at the face. “Wanda,” she mocked. “What was your mom thinking?”

That you would be a night club singer.

She suddenly realized that she knew her mother was dead. Without any anxiety or sorrow, she was able to contemplate that the woman who named her was no longer alive. In fact, both of her parents were gone. Daddy had left when she was young, only to die alone later…and then her mother had taken her own life. But her mother had been around long enough to tell her to be a singer.

She hadn’t become a singer though. She’d tried it and found out that singing wasn’t the life for her.

So what was she instead? She grimaced as a spike of pain bolted across her head. But then she saw something, another flash of recall that came and went almost too quickly for her to comprehend.

She’d been sitting in front of a word processor, pencil tucked contemplatively between her teeth as she tapped away at a keyboard. Her hair had been different, a little longer, straighter than the wavy locks she was looking at right now, like a bob...

“Wanda?”

She realized during her musing that Kal had emerged in the door with a cup of coffee in his grip. She was grateful for the coffee, but his pained expression caught her attention. She wondered as she accepted his cup if he had a headache or something from the way his jaw was clenched and how his eyes were squinting. And she noticed something about his appearance was strange, like his face was missing something...

“Where are your glasses?” she queried.

His eyebrows furrowed together in confusion. “Glasses? I’ve never worn glasses.”

Her face mirrored his confusion. She had just remembered that he did.

“When we got engaged,” she prompted, “you had on glasses. I remember.”

He had come forward as she’d spoken, his sudden invasion of her space feeling vaguely threatening and the intensity of his gaze unnerving her slightly.

“I think you’re mistaken,” he gently insisted. For no reason she could fathom, he brought his hand up to cup her jaw.

She drew in a sharp breath as the heat of his touch melted away any trepidation she may have been feeling, her eyes drooping closed from the strength of the warm pulse that shuddered through her.

And then she saw what he meant, everything about their engagement exactly as he’d told her, except of course he wasn’t wearing glasses at all. The only difference was the fact that he was clean-shaven in her recollection, but obviously he’d allowed his whiskers to grow in since then and she couldn’t help trying to remember if they tickled when he kissed her.

TBC...

Posting schedule changing to Every Friday, NFIC FOLDER ONLY from this point on.
Thanks so much for your patience so far.

TEEEEEEJ