Part Sixteen
~Twenty-four hours later~
Sound. Light. Light on her eyelids, a purplish yellow. And the chiming of glass against glass.
She cracked one of her eyes open, groaning softly as her head began to pulse. Disorientated by the pain, she tried to make sense of her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was... was... feeding Jon in the kitchen, and settling him for the night, and then...
Both her eyes flew open, then immediately closed again as a reel of images unspooled in her brain. Coming back from her moonlight rendezvous with Clark to find the bassinette empty and her son gone, and...
And...
A dark shape silhouetted against green and the sound of a baby's terrified squall...
//Lex,// a whispering voice said disbelievingly inside her. She felt her heart accelerate.
//Lex.//
Her blood was pounding in her ears.
//Jon. Clark. Lex.//
The chiming of glass on glass...
Somebody in the room with her. Bending over her, in fact. And then a slick wetness in her mouth as a tumbler was held to it.
"Concentrate, Lois," she heard a smooth voice saying somewhere. She refused that voice. Rebelled against it. That voice wasn't an option, wasn't possible, *couldn't* be there *now*...
"Wake up, sweetheart..."
Sweetheart. Casual use of endearments in the mornings after his nighttime ventures. The sick feeling in the pit of her stomach - the nicknames branding her as his.
She could feel her tongue moving thickly around in her mouth, scraping off her gums as she tried to formulate a sentence. Her fingers itching to rise so she could pinch herself, and somehow unable to.
She was so tired, she realised. It would be such a sweet relief to just let go, to drift and not have to think about any of this...
"Wake up, Lois..."
//But I'm so tired...//
"Come on, my darling. Try."
<My darling...>
//No.//
She let go and felt numbness overcome her.
~&~
His head cracked against the concrete and he moaned. The sound, of a trapped and bleeding animal, earned him another kick to his stomach. His nose was in a bad state - he could feel the blood trickling steadily down onto his lips - and his chest felt as if it were filled with fire.
Dimly in some corner of his mind he was aware of where he was and what was happening... bright light was passing over his head, he could make out blurry indistinct shapes through his eyelids...
Lois! Where was Lois? Was she okay? He had to help her somehow, find her...
He tried to move his arms, move his legs, but everything was weak and insubstantial. His head started to swim again.
With supreme self-control, he managed to clear the fog from his brain, and tried to make sense of his surroundings.
He was being dragged along something, a long corridor, maybe... two men, one on either side... and now he was being thrown down a set of concrete stairs...
He had the strangest feeling that he was floating, free above their heads, watching what these strangers were doing to him.
More stairs. Would there ever be an end to these endless flights... rolling headfirst down to come crashing to a sudden halt at the end...
Realisation hit him like a thunderbolt. A long corridor. Stairs. More stairs. Then an open door, and crates of wine, a dark nest lit by the glow of Kryptonite. Eerily, eerily familiar.
He was going back to the nightmare.
And it was entirely his fault. Entirely. His. Fault. He'd *thought* he was keeping an ear out, he'd *thought* there was nobody in the house, he'd *thought* they were safe, he'd *assumed* everything would be okay, he'd been lulled into a false sense of security, and...
When had he ever been able to focus on anything other than Lois when she was in his arms?
When had he last used his superhearing?
He should have tested it out. He should have made absolutely certain his powers were completely back. He shouldn't have been so carried away in the moment. He shouldn't have wanted Lois to fall for him. He shouldn't have attempted to woo her by taking her flying.
//All my fault...//
~&~
No gentle floating in and out of sleep now. Her mind kicked into overdrive almost instantly, and her eyes flew open.
Lex. Clark. Jon.
Her fingers brushed against something soft and pliant. Spooked, she shot straight up and out of bed -
Out of *bed*?
Her heart thudded wildly as she surveyed her surroundings. She was alone in the room, reclining full length on a luxurious four-poster bed, with her hands clasped loosely over her stomach, and she was wearing...
She was wearing...
Her mind screamed at her, and she leapt out from beneath the silky blankets. Choking, she stumbled across the plush carpet and threw open the double-doors of the wardrobe, searching for something, *anything*, to cover that... that lacy, revealing *thing* he'd dressed her in...
Dressed her in. Like a life-sized doll, or a toy. His to play with, his to possess.
She felt a red-hot hand of anger grip her. No. No. Not anymore.
She examined the array of clothes in front of her, growing ever more nauseated. These were the fruits of her marriage, the things she'd worn to corporate balls and dinner parties. Perfectly cut and exquisitely tailored. In all her best colours - muted browns and beiges, burgundy, deep red, rich purple, black.
And laid out like he was expecting her to wear them.
She spied a terrycloth robe she'd never seen before and tugged it loose. She knotted it around her waist, wrapping the belt a couple of times around her. It was huge - she suspected it might even have been too big on Cl -
Clark.
Clark. And Jon. He had them both, and he was... where was he?
For that matter... where was *she*?
Surely... surely she wasn't... wasn't...
She *was*.
She was back in their bedroom... but with some definite changes.
Like the set of sliding doors. They'd been bricked in. As had each and every one of the windows.
Plus - she looked back at the closet - there was no evidence of Lex's existence here.
She took two steps, wondering, and her eye caught the dressing table. The ornate mirror that had once hung on the wall had vanished, but an array of bottles were now adorning the top of the ridiculously ostentatious counter.
She took another step, fascinated.
All her favourite perfumes and oils and scents and creams. Lipsticks and nail varnishes lined up to greet her, they looked oddly like troops advancing into battle. To the right, there was an enormous boar's-head brush and another selection of hairsprays and mousses and smoothing treatments. She picked up a huge bottle of Chanel No. 5, her mouth dropping open.
What was he *playing* at? Was he trying to... to *woo* her, by laying these cosmetics around, a casual reminder that he knew what she liked?
Forcing herself not to dwell on it, not to give in to the scorching rage that gripped her, she once more stepped back to look around the room.
Everything and anything that could be used as a weapon gone. Nothing plugged in. The television in the far corner was fitted into the wall. She looked, and yes, the en-suite was still there.
A thought gripped her, and her eyes immediately flew to the four corners of the room, cursing as she noticed the cameras. They were large and black and reminded her of spiders, and they scanned every inch of the bedroom. Nowhere to hide.
A second later, she'd verified that she was faced with the same situation in the bathroom.
Nowhere a sign of a baby. Nowhere any facilities that a child could use. No sign that Jon existed at all.
So he was either somewhere else in the house or he was...
He was... was...
//Don't be stupid. Lex always wanted an heir. He would do nothing to endanger his son.//
And Clark? What would become of Clark? Had he escaped from Lex? Had he made it out? Lex didn't know Clark was Superman - of that she was sure.
At least, she was almost sure...
At least, he'd never gloated about it or taunted her about it or threatened her with it...
Kryptonite. Lex had had Kryptonite...
//Why? *Why* did he bring Kryptonite with him?//
...and... and...
And Clark had fallen to the ground in a stupor, gibbering with pain...
So if Lex hadn't known before - which, she sighed wearily, was a very unrealistic estimation - he most definitely knew now.
She shook herself.
//Things like this aren't going to get me anywhere,// she thought grimly. //Lex has no idea what he's faced with.//
She paused, and felt her heart break.
//But for the moment, I have to plan on getting out of this... all by myself.//
~&~
It was an idyllic day in downtown Metropolis, but the rays of the sun seemed to stop and retreat in terror when they reached the shadow of the dilapidated building. It had once been an integral part of the city, but the scar that stained it was malevolent and struck a strange sense of fear into the hearts of the passers-by.
Hardly anybody took the time to stop and wonder at the edifice that had once housed the world's greatest newspaper, but Perry White was doing it now.
Times like this, he knew why he'd gone away, why he'd stayed away. This building held his heart, and it was broken. An empty skin, blasted to oblivion, for no reason. So much good sucked out of it. So many hopes and dreams and ethics and morals and principles and...
//Stop daydreaming, old man,// he told himself roughly. He hadn't come back to the city to moon around outside the derelict shell of the Daily Planet. He'd come to find questions, to find answers, to get results, and to get his family back.
He frowned. Strange, that. Clark Kent and Lois Lane were family to him, had always been family to him... and he'd let them slip away.
He'd given up too easily. He should have spoken to Lois about the kind of person her fiance was, he should have refused to let Clark leave the city, he should have stayed there himself and kept an eye on things, but the way Alice had been threatened... the way he'd started getting death threats in the mail... the way Lois had begged him to leave, the way she'd looked that last time, humble and fragile and stuttering...
And now they were back together. Or at least, he'd thought they would be. He'd arrived at the Planet - their meeting place - but they weren't here.
They weren't here. And they'd both sounded so reassuring on the phone, so full of hope, so full of conviction. They'd promised they'd bring Jon with them - he grinned at the thought of seeing a miniature male Lois, how happy she must be - and they'd assured that the three of them would immediately go about bringing Luthor down.
Everything would be settled, they'd said. Everybody would be safe, they'd said.
And yet here he was, right time - he checked his watch, actually nearly fifteen minutes late by now - right place... no Lois and Clark.
Something was wrong. His reporter's instinct hadn't been exercised for a while, but it was still there, ready to crank into action.
Something was wrong with his kids, and he was damned if he was going to sit around and do nothing this time.
~&~
Pain. Incredible, soul-destroying pain, the likes of which he’d never even conceived of before. He blinked his dust-clogged eyes open. All he could see was green.
He just wanted to let go, to let the helplessness overcome him, to stop struggling, stop fighting the tide...
Was this how it felt to die? Like giving up, like letting go, like failing? Stopping the climb up the cliff face, loosening your grip and falling back? Or was it gentler than this, more peaceful; the whisper of a sight from an old lady’s mouth?
Were those final moments euphoric – when you realised nothing you could say or do would make a hell of a difference? A strange kind of Utopia – realising that you weren’t in charge, that you’d never been in charge.
His life was flashing before his eyes – wow, it really *did* happen. All of his favourite memories; creeping downstairs in his pyjamas as a young boy to watch his parents waltzing to Frank Sinatra, coming home from school to the warm, buttery smell of fresh-baked pecan pie, seeing Paris for the first time ever as a college freshman, diving off a piece of the Barrier Reef in Australia as a young adult...
Lois sitting on his parents’ couch, watching Wheel of Fortune in a pair of pyjama bottoms and a maternity tank top, balancing her carton of Double-Double-Chocolate-Chip on her rounded stomach, yelling the answers to the quiz questions before the contestants and mercilessly slating them when they got it wrong...
A great and powerful emotion welled up inside him. His eyes snapped open and suddenly he could see beyond the green. Beyond the pain.
And to his salvation.
~&~
Her biggest problem was the cameras. When she’d been getting dressed – armour to face the enemy with – she’d stepped *inside* the wardrobe to protect her privacy, but that particular trick wouldn’t work for everything.
She knew he was coming, of course. A sulky henchman had dropped by with a plate of food earlier – feeding time at the zoo, she thought bitterly – and surely he wouldn’t delay to see his wife, to talk to her up close...
//What will I do if he touches me... if he...//
//Grin and bear it.//
She recoiled, her stomach in spasms.
//Do it for Clark. Do it for *Jon*.//
Jon. His sweet baby smell. His chubby little arms. His hair like dark dandelion fluff. His huge, thoughtful eyes. Brown. They were turning brown, as she'd predicted.
Clark. Feeling his warm, appreciative gaze on her as she schlumped around in her pyjamas watching crappy game shows. His acceptance of her need for chocolate. His amazing understanding of her needs. His gentle teasing. His patience. His immense, frightening love.
These were her reasons for living, her hopes for the future. For them, she would get through this – whatever it was.
She heard advancing footsteps and tensed.
~&~
He hadn't had far to go to realise what was happening, what *had* happened. As soon as he'd switched on LNN he'd realised what was wrong - Luthor's reporters were practically screaming her story from the rooftops. In a city full of people who'd met her, he was the only one who knew the truth about her life and her death.
No mention of Clark and no mention of Superman.
Not good.
He had them, then. Somehow he had them - somehow he had trapped them both inside that stinking rat hole of a manor. It loomed over the city like some large bird of prey, ready to strike. He remembered all the magazine features that had come out when he'd built it three months after his wedding to Lois - the word 'sumptuous' featuring at least five times in all of them.
And... Luthor had his son. Perry had seen the photographs.
He needed to get them all out of there before it was too late.
Grimacing, he rubbed his eyes and returned to the computer, desperately trying to establish a link between Lex Luthor and the demolition of the Daily Planet.
~&~
Whatever happened, she would not scream. She would not let him see how much he was affecting her.
"You look a lot better," he said benignly, like a favourite uncle would. She froze her jaw, forbade it to move, to give her away. Silence was strong, and it would protect her. Her mouth could incriminate her. It could open and start yelling things, and that wouldn't be good, wouldn't be safe.
"Haven't you eaten?" he said, frowning at the tray of untouched food on the ground.
"Wasn't hungry," she mumbled, unwilling to open her mouth too widely in case something dangerous popped out.
He was looking at her again. She couldn't stand it, wanted to scream. His eyes on her felt lecherous and somehow unclean. She sensed she was being examined, like a farmer would examine a cow at a market, rated for her usefulness.
"Pregnancy suited you," he said in a distinctly denigrating tone. "You're not so pale now. I like to see colour in a woman's cheeks."
It was all she could do not to leap up and strangle him.
"Where is my son?" she asked calmly, looking up and at him and yet distancing herself from him at the same time.
"You mean Alex? Not to worry, my love, he's being taken care of."
Alex?
"His name is Jon," she said, disbelieving that anybody could be so thoroughly foul.
His hand hovered dangerously near hers. Quickly, she folded her arms.
"I will respect your wishes in all aspects of our son," he said coldly, "but not in this. Jon is a common name and not fitting for a Luthor."
She could have said lots of things, like 'respect my wishes? You bet', or 'he's not your son', or 'he'll never be a Luthor', but she made the fatal mistake of looking him straight in the eye. His gaze was cold and empty, and she felt an involuntary shiver running down her spine. Suddenly he looked like a shark. A very dangerous, very cruel, very *inhuman* shark.
"I want to see him, Lex."
He waved dismissively. "Impossible."
She felt a hand of terror grip her.
"I want to see my son."
Already he was looking up and away from her. "This stage is fundamental. It will be easier afterwards if you don't see him now."
"Afterwards? After what?"
"You should eat. Keep up your strength." His voice ever more distant. "And I brought you this." A beat, and then a heavy newspaper landed on her lap. She glanced down for just long enough to see it was the Star.
"Why would you bring me a newspaper?" she asked to his departing back.
He turned slowly. She nearly screamed as a smile quirked the corners of his mouth.
"Thought you might find it interesting," he said softly, then opened the door, went out and locked it behind him.
~&~
~Three hours later~
“You said you had information for me concerning Lois Luthor?” The name stuck in his throat.
“Yes.” A young voice, barely broken. He watched the ground carefully, afraid to move. “She’s not dead.”
He inclined his head.
“She was pregnant, and she left him.”
He couldn’t help it – his head swung upward. He caught a glimpse of red hair before he remembered where he was and dropped his eyes again.
“How do you know that?” he asked sharply.
The guy continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I figure he deserved it. Never thought like that before, but if you’d seen this lady like I saw her...”
“I know all this,” he interrupted impatiently. “If that’s all you have for me...”
“He came round later, or sent his men, found out where she went – got a tip from a bum, I think, plus some clues from this ATM card she used. His accountant must have been unusually diligent this month. Next thing you hear of she ‘died in childbirth’ - yeah, like that could happen, with all the money he has. No mention of her previous ‘death’, either. And Schmidt’s Stores suddenly get a few thousand dollars from some guy wanting baby stuff. You following?”
He was astounded. “How do you know all this?”
A pause. “I helped her catch a Greyhound to Kansas. Asked a couple of guys down at the station to keep an eye open.”
”Why?”
”I wanted to make sure she was okay, is all.”
“What’s in it for you?” He couldn’t believe it. *Nobody* did anything like this, not anymore.
“A good night’s sleep and a sense of pride that I helped put that scum-bucket away.”
”What’s your name, kid?”
The boy dropped his head briefly.
"Hope I’ve been able to help, sir."
He turned to go.
"Wait!"
This was the biggest break he’d gotten so far, and he was darned if he was going to let it slip through his fingers.
"If you really want to help, you can look this up for me." He produced a card, and the kid stretched out a hand to take it.
"Wait. First you need to be sure you want in on this."
He hesitated a nanosecond, then nodded. Perry handed him the card, his eyes glancing over the boy’s bright hair.
"How in Elvis’s name did you know to come to *me*?" he asked, puzzled.
The kid looked up.
"Wasn’t too hard to figure out. You were her editor, and now you’re back in Metropolis. I figure you want her safe."
Perry regarded him considerately, thinking hard.
"I’m going to need a name," he remarked offhandedly, "otherwise I’ll just have to call you Red."
The kid grimaced, then stuck out his hand. "It’s Charlie. Charlie King."
Perry chuckled as he shook hands with him. //CK. Naturally.//
"What exactly am I looking at?"
He eyed him carefully before answering.
"Jimmy Olsen’s last-known address. We’re gonna need him."
~&~
This was taking so much effort. So much will and strength and grit and determination and *sweat*, and his reserves were running dangerously low.
For a man who'd once been able to lift a rocket into orbit, it had proved surprisingly difficult to manoeuvre his belt out of his jeans with his slippery fingers - and it was proving next to impossible to try and catch the keys from where they'd been resting on the floor, so close but so desperately far.
Little things to be thankful for - the stupidity of the guards who'd brought him there, the fact that he wasn't wearing his Superman suit this time, the fact that the belt he was wearing had once been his father's, the tiny window through which hope shone.
Once more, he shoved his arms straight through the bars of the cage, biting down hard on his tongue to prevent himself from yelling as the Kryptonite seared his skin. Nearly there... nearly...
Lois's face burst into his head, like a flower opening or a sun exploding, and with previously unrivalled perseverance he managed to throw the loop of the belt neatly around the keys. He took a breath and began to pull.
//I'm coming, Lois... hang on.//
~&~
To be continued...
