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Chapter 4:
Shifting Sands
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September 20, 1999 5:05 PM
Daily Planet Daycare Center, Metropolis
Lois and Clark walked hand-in-hand into the daycare center, intent on picking up Rachel and Jamie. Clark smiled at the attendant behind the desk, and they hurried back towards the rooms where the children were. As usual, they split up, Lois going to get Jamie while Clark went to the back to pick up Rachel. He opened the door, but before he could go inside, a small, brown-haired whirlwind attached herself to his leg.
"Daddy!" she called. "I *missed* you."
Clark laughed and swung her into his arms. "I missed you too, Sprite. How would you like to go home and have dinner? Your mom and I have something we'd like to tell you."
A slightly suspicious look stole over Rachel's small face. "Is Mommy having another baby?" she asked.
Clark smiled. "Not yet, Sprite. But we do have a surprise for you."
Rachel wound her arms around his neck, hugged him tightly, then laid her head on his shoulder. "Please tell me, Daddy?" she murmured.
Clark rubbed his hand up and down her back gently. He could tell that the thought of something else changing in his daughter's small world was upsetting her, and since he and Lois would be telling her in a few minutes anyway, he supposed it didn't really make sense to wait.
"Baby, how would you like for your half brother to come and live with us? Samantha called today and asked if he could, and your Mommy and I said yes."
Rachel buried her face in his neck. "Is he gonna stay with us forever?"
"I don't know, Sprite," Clark answered honestly. "We don't know how Timmy will fit in our family."
"And you and Momma will love me just the same?" she asked.
"Always, baby," he answered.
"Good." She answered, her voice muffled. "Then I guess it's okay, but I don't like Timmy much."
"He's been bounced around for a while, Sprite. Would you be nice to him for me and your Momma?" Clark asked.
Rachel pulled back and looked at him. "But what if he's mean to me, Daddy?" she asked.
Clark kissed her on the cheek. "Sprite, if Timmy decides to be ugly, you can come and tell me or Mommy, but don't be mean back, okay?"
Rachel bit her lip, sighed, and nodded. "I guess." She tightened her hold on him and once again buried her face in his neck.
Clark hugged his daughter tightly, then grabbed her full backpack from the rack. He smiled at the daycare worker and headed out the door, shutting it tightly behind him. Lois was waiting for them at the front desk.
"Clark," she began hurriedly, "Perry just called down from the newsroom. There's been another one, and he wants one of us to cover it."
Clark reached over and took the baby carrier. "You go," he said with a smile. "I can handle these two for a while, but I'll need the car."
Lois nodded and put Jamie's diaper bag down next to Clark. "Henderson is on his way down to the lobby; he was talking to Perry, and he said that he'll give me a lift to the crime scene and then back to the house."
"Momma?" Rachel said.
Lois leaned over and kissed her daughter. "I'll be back for dinner, Peanut, ok?"
Rachel sighed and nodded. "Okay."
With a final wave, Lois left. Clark carefully put Rachel down and gathered up his children's possessions. "C'mon, Sprite. Let's go home," he said with a smile.
Rachel kept close by his side as they left the daycare center and headed down to the underground parking garage. They'd have to wait to start dinner until after Timmy arrived; the child was sure to be hungry. He frowned slightly as they stepped out of the elevator and walked to the jeep. He wasn't sure what the boy would eat; some kids were very picky when it came to food.
Clark thought about it for a few minutes, then decided to stick to stuff that most kids would eat. "How would you like hot dogs and fries for dinner, Rachel?" he asked.
Rachel climbed into her car seat before answering. "Can we have potato salad, too?"
Clark smiled. "Not with french fries, kiddo." He leaned over and strapped her in before lifting Jamie's carrier into the car and buckling it in as well.
Rachel pouted for a few minutes. "Ok-a-a-y," she said with a sigh.
Clark shut the door and got in the car. Timmy would have to sleep in the guest room for now; lucky for them that their house had four bedrooms. He started the car and pulled out of the parking space. They'd have to stop by the grocery store on the way home for the ingredients for dinner.
~*~*~*~
September 20, 1999, 6:20 PM
Office of Social Services, Metropolis
Samantha Parker sat at her desk and flipped through a case file. She glanced over where little Timmy Russell was looking through a picture-book and sighed. He'd been being unbelievably good since they'd had to retrieve him from his last foster home, but she knew it wouldn't last. Children his age usually weren't as still and quiet as he was being. She knew his background; it included the abuse of his half-sister, but from all accounts he had been treated well. Timmy was in foster care because not only had his father's parental rights been terminated when Rachel's condition had come to light, but also there was a dearth of blood relatives willing and able to care for him.
Samantha closed the file with a sigh, got up, and walked over to where the child was sitting. "Timmy," she began gently. "How would you like to go live with the people that adopted Rachel?"
Timmy seemed to consider the question for a few minutes. "Are they nice, Ms. Parker? Do you think that they'll adopt me, too?"
Samantha smiled. "I don't know, kiddo. The Kents are really nice people. Besides Rachel, they also have a baby boy named Jamie."
Timmy's eyes lit up and a smile spread over his chubby face. "Really? So I'd get a baby brother?"
"For now, yes," Samantha said. She knew better than to lie to any of her charges. She reached down and picked up his suitcase. "Are you ready to go meet them?" she asked with a smile.
Timmy nodded, his smile growing bigger. "I haven't seen Rachel for a long time," he said. "What does she look like? I don't remember."
Sam reached for his hand. It really wasn't surprising that he didn't really remember his sister much. He was only four years old, after all, and he hadn't seen her for almost a year. "She's pretty," Sam answered finally. "Her hair's gotten darker; it's almost light brown now, and it gets darker every time I see her. She's got dark blue eyes--like yours, and she's very shy."
"What about the baby?" Timmy asked.
"I haven't seen him," Samantha answered. "He was born after Rachel was adopted, so I haven't been over there lately."
"Okay," Timmy said. "Does Rachel like it there?"
"Very much," Samantha confirmed. "She loves the Kents." She ushered him outside and to her car. She dumped his suitcase in the back, helped him into a car seat, and fastened it securely. She hurried back around the car, slid in and started it. It wouldn't be long before they got to the Kent's house, and in a way, she was glad; one more child would be in a safe home.
~*~*~*~
September 20, 1999 6:30 pm
348 Hyperion Avenue, Metropolis
Rachel sat quietly in the corner of the room, playing with Aimee and Aimee's new friend, Monika, that Grandma Kent had made. She wasn't so sure about Timmy coming to stay with them--after all, he'd always been pretty mean to her when she'd had to live with Papa Gary. Maybe he'd be nice now. Maybe he wouldn't hit her or call her ugly names.
She cuddled Aimee close, then sat her in one of the chairs and pretended to pour tea in the small china teacup. "Drink up for Mommy," she said softly. Rachel frowned slightly, then got up to wander towards the kitchen. Playing tea party wasn't as fun without her grandpas to play with her. A smile replaced the frown as she thought of Grandpa Perry trying to sit on one of her small chairs. He'd looked so silly trying to sit at her table!
Rachel pushed open the kitchen door, went in, and climbed up on one of the stools. "Daddy, when will Momma be home?" she asked quietly.
Clark opened the bag of frozen French fries and dumped them on a cookie sheet before answering. “Soon, Sprite. Inspector Henderson won’t keep her any longer than he has to.” He reached over and tugged Rachel’s ponytail gently. “He knows we need her home, kiddo.”
“Good. I want Momma home.” Rachel slid down from the stool, walked over, and hugged Clark tightly. “I’m scared, Daddy,” she said in a little voice.
Clark picked her up and kissed her forehead gently. “There’s nothing to be scared of, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I promise that everything’ll be okay.”
Rachel sighed and laid her head on his shoulder. “Can we go flying soon, Daddy?”
Clark rubbed her back gently. “We’ll see, Rach,” he promised. “Timmy can’t find out about my other job.”
“Cause he might tell?” Rachel asked.
“Yes. We don’t know Timmy yet. Maybe we’ll adopt him, too, and then we’ll tell him.”
Rachel wrapped her arms around his neck. “Okay. I won’t tell Timmy even if he’s real nice now.”
“Was he mean before, sprite?” Clark asked.
Rachel didn’t answer; she just laid her head on his shoulder again. Clark kissed her on the cheek. “Kiddo, I need to check the fries. Would you please do me a favor and go make sure Jamie’s okay?” he asked.
A big smile spread over Rachel’s face. “Sure!” she said. “I need to tell him about Timmy, anyway.”
Clark put her down and turned to stick the fries in the oven. “He’s in the playpen in the living room,” he called as she hurried out of the room.
“I know, Daddy!” Rachel pushed through the kitchen door and ran over to the playpen. She smiled as she watched Jamie stick his fist in his mouth. "Hey, Jaimers," she said.
Rachel carefully climbed into the playpen and sat next to the sleeping baby. "My old half-brother is coming to stay with us," she informed him softly. "I'll keep him away from you; I promise. He's mean; least he was before."
Jamie's fist left his mouth and he let out a quiet snore.
"I'll protect you, 'cause you're *my* brother," she said, then kissed him on the cheek and climbed out of the playpen. Rachel looked at Jamie, a smile on her face. She was sure that he was the cutest baby in the universe, and he was *her* brother. Nobody would ever be allowed to lay a finger on him if she had her way. Things would be different for him, because he would *always* have somebody to love him.
Rachel looked up, startled when the doorbell rang. It had to be *him*. "Daddy!" she called.
Clark came out, wiping his hands on his jeans. "I'm coming, Sprite," he said with a smile.
Rachel held her arms out to him. "Please, Daddy?" she asked.
Clark reached down, swung her into his arms, and settled her on his hip. "What's the matter?" he asked.
Rachel didn't answer; she just buried her face in his neck. She felt the kiss he placed on her forehead as he started moving towards the door.
Clark opened the door, revealing Samantha and Timmy. He flashed them a quick smile and motioned them inside. "Come on in," he said. He looked at the little boy.
Timmy didn't return the look. His sullen dark blue eyes were fixed on the floor as the ambient light shone on his sandy-brown hair. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his blue jeans, and he occupied himself with scuffing the toe of his ragged sneaker against the wooden floor. "Is that Rachel?" he asked finally, pointing at her.
Sam stepped a little closer to Rachel and Clark, then smoothed back a strand of Rachel's light brown hair. "Yes, it is," she answered.
"She's feeling just a little shy today," Clark said with a smile. "Give me just a minute, and I'll help you take your stuff upstairs."
"Is my room up there?" Timmy asked. At Clark's distracted nod, he took off and hurried up the stairs.
Clark sat down on the couch and settled Rachel in his lap. "Sprite, will you be okay down here with Jamie?" he asked. "I need to go upstairs and get Timmy settled in."
"Okay, Daddy," she whispered, sliding off his lap. Rachel walked over to the playpen and pulled a blanket over Jamie as she listened to the grown-ups.
Clark stood and watched Timmy gain the landing. "Thank you for bringing him, Sam."
"I'm just happy you could take him, Mr. Kent," Sam offered with a smile. "I'll be back in a few weeks to see how he's settling in."
Clark offered her his hand, and they shook before he walked her to the door. Sam left and Clark looked back at Rachel before heading upstairs. "I'm going to show Timmy where he's sleeping; I'll be right back, Sprite."
"Okay, Daddy," Rachel said softly as she watched Clark pick up a small bag and head upstairs. She turned back to the playpen. "I'll protect us, Jamie. I promise," she murmured.
~*~*~*~
Timmy walked into the closest bedroom. It was *girly*, so he decided that it must be Rachel's room. And that meant that it was now his. His last set of foster parents had tried to teach him that girls were to be treated nicely, but he knew that Rachel was the exception. He was better than she was; he belonged and she didn't. Daddy had said so, and Daddy was always right.
Besides, it was all her dumb fault that Daddy had to go away and he had to live with strangers. She *owed* him. What was hers in this nice place was his now. It was only fair. He ran over and jumped on the bed, bouncing up and down. It wasn't long before Mr. Kent came in.
"I see you've found Rachel's room," he said pleasantly.
"'S mine, now," Timmy answered.
"Nope," Clark said. "You'll be sleeping down the hall, Tim."
"But I like it here," Timmy whined.
"Tough, kiddo," Clark said. "This room belongs to Rachel." He held out his hand. "Come on, and I'll show you what'll be your room while you're here."
Timmy stuck his lip out in a pout, then came over and took Clark's hand. It wasn't *fair*. It was obvious that Mr. Kent wasn't about to let him have his own way. Looked like he liked Rachel better than him. Didn't matter. She would never, ever, belong more than him. He was special. Daddy said so. Rachel was trash. She was an accident. *He* wasn't.
He followed Mr. Kent down the hall to a bland guest room. "You'll be sleeping here," Clark said, offering him a grin. "We just found out about you today, so we're putting you in the guest room for now, and we'll see about getting some of your stuff later."
Timmy didn't say anything. He could always take Rachel's toys, after all. He'd even seen a cool teddy bear that he liked sitting on her bed.
~*~*~*~
September 20, 1999, 6:50 pm
348 Hyperion Avenue, Metropolis
Lois unlocked the front door and walked inside. "I'm home," she called.
A small, light brown-haired whirlwind barreled into her, tiny arms wrapped around her, and a face burrowed its way into her stomach. "Timmy's here," said a muffled voice.
Lois smiled. "Hello to you, too, Peanut." she said.
"Momma, will you still love me now that he's here?" she asked in a small voice.
Lois hugged Rachel tightly. "I'll *always* love you, baby," she promised. "Nothing could ever make me stop."
Rachel rubbed her face against Lois’s stomach. “Good. I’m hungry.”
Lois smiled. "I think we can fix that--I smell hot dogs."
"Daddy's cooking, but Timmy is in there too," Rachel explained.
"Well, kiddo, why don't we go in and see if dinner's ready?" Lois asked as she stood up and took Rachel's hand.
"Okay," Rachel said with a worried smile. She followed Lois into the kitchen and sat down at the already-set table next to Timmy. She didn't really want to sit there, but there wasn't much choice in the matter.
Clark walked by, mussed her hair affectionately, and set some hot dogs on the table.
Lois walked out of the room and came back with Jamie, whom she put into his bouncy chair. Jamie grinned at Rachel and stuffed his fist into his mouth.
Rachel smiled at her baby brother, then looked down at her plate. Her hot dog was missing! She looked suspiciously at Timmy who was happily chomping one down and there was another on his plate. He stopped to smirk at her, then pinched her arm, hard. She started to pinch him back, but didn’t--her Daddy had asked her to be nice to him, and she’d do it if it killed her.
She reached for a French fry, only to have Timmy steal a handful of them and put them on his own plate. Rachel glared at him, then took one, dipped it in ketchup, and ate it. It was obvious to her that Timmy hadn’t changed much. He’d always been encouraged by Papa Gary to take anything she really wanted.
Timmy helped himself to more of her fries, so she scowled at him, picked up her fork, and started to eat her beans. She’d make sure that she got to set the table from now on so that she could make sure to be out of Timmy’s reach. “Daddy, may I please have a hot dog?” she asked softly.
Clark fixed her another one. "Of course you can, Sprite," he said, handing it over, then turning back to his conversation with her Momma about work.
Rachel took it from him and took a large bite. Timmy wasn't going to get this one. She smiled at Jamie again as he gurgled at her, spitting up some of the baby cereal that Momma was feeding him.
She chewed and swallowed her hot dog and was about to take another bite when Timmy knocked it out of her hand and pinched her again. "Hey!" she protested, "you did that on *purpose*!"
Clark stopped talking to Lois and looked at them. Timmy had a huge grin on his face, as if he were vastly amused at his half-sister's complaint. "Timothy Raymond Russell, *did* you do that on purpose?" he asked.
One look at Clark must've let Timmy know that he meant business. "Yes." He answered. "She's good-for-nothing- trash. She's a *bastard*; an *accident*. She doesn't deserve to sit with me. Daddy said so, and Daddy's *right*."
"No, he's *not*." Rachel broke in. "*Your* daddy's in *jail* cause he's a *bad* man."
"Rachel!" Lois said sharply.
"Sorry, Momma," Rachel muttered, staring down at her plate.
"Rachel, come here," Clark said softly.
Rachel slid down from her chair and went around the table. Clark picked her up and set her in his lap before turning to Timmy. "Timmy, go wash up and then go to *your* room, NOW."
"I don't see why," he sneered. "*Rachel* was the one who was bad, *not* me."
Rachel hid her face in Clark's chest and refused to move.
"NOW, Timothy," Lois ordered, her eyes snapping dangerously. "We'll be up later to talk about how we treat other people."
Jamie picked that moment to start crying. Lois turned away from Timmy, put a cloth over her shoulder, picked Jamie up, and laid him on her shoulder.
Timmy slid out of his chair, shot a murderous look at Rachel, then stomped out of the room.
Clark hugged Rachel and she scooted back slightly to look at her daddy. "I'm sorry," she said softly.
"I know you are, Sprite," he said with a gentle smile. "Just don't--"
"Call him names again and be nice to him?" Rachel asked.
"That's right," Lois said. "We need to prove to him that there are better ways than being ugly to people to get along." She smiled at Clark and he grinned back.
"Are you still hungry, Rach?" Clark asked.
Rachel nodded. "Uh huh."
Clark stood up, and started to put her down, but she clung to him tightly. "Don't let go, Daddy," she begged.
Clark sighed, slung her over his hip, refilled her plate, and put her back in her chair, then leaned down and cleaned up the mess from her ruined hot dog. "There you go, Rachel," he said with a smile.
Rachel kept one hand wound in his shirt, and let go reluctantly. Daddy's arms were *safe* the way the rest of the world wasn't. At least Timmy had been sent upstairs. She looked at Jamie and made silly faces at him until he stopped crying. "Jamie doesn't like Timmy," she announced. "I don't, either."
"Peanut," Lois began. "I don't think you know the real Timmy--there could be a very nice little boy in there. Promise me that you'll be nice to him or at least try?"
Rachel nodded. "Okay, Momma." She was willing to do almost anything for her parents, and she didn't want to be like Timmy, either. She picked up her hot dog and started eating. It was much different being a Kent than living with Timmy and Papa Gary--there Timmy was allowed to do whatever he wanted to her. Here, it didn't look like he would be allowed to hurt her. She smiled. Here, she belonged, and Timmy was only temporary.
~*~*~*~
September 20, 1999, 8:00 PM
348 Hyperion Avenue, Metropolis
Clark peeked into Rachel's room, where Lois was engaged in reading his little girl a story. Rachel had her thumb in her mouth and her head was leaning against Lois's shoulder. Aimee was tucked under one arm, while Clarkie-Bear occupied the other. He grinned as she looked up at him, removed her thumb from her mouth, and smiled, then stuck her thumb back in her mouth and looked at the pictures in the book Lois was reading.
Rachel's room hadn't changed much in the past year. It still had scenes from fairy tales painstakingly painted on the walls by himself and his mom, with an important addition. Ever since Rachel had learned about the secret, she insisted that princesses had to be rescued by Superman, so they'd put decals of Superman flying to the rescue into every scene.
He turned and walked quietly down the hall to check on Jamie. He tiptoed into the room and peeked into Jamie's crib. His baby was fast asleep, with dark eyelashes curling on his chubby cheeks. Clark tugged the blanket up and glanced around the Winnie-the-Pooh decorated nursery. Rachel had wanted Superman in there, too, so they'd let her pick out a soft Superman toy for the baby's crib. It just wouldn't do to have people identify the Kent children with Superman, after all.
Clark kissed his son on the cheek, then silently left the room and headed to where Timmy was staying. He entered the room to find Timmy sitting on the bed with his bottom lip sticking out and his arms crossed stubbornly over his chest.
He looked up and glared at Clark, then turned to face the wall. "I hate you," he announced. "You're *mean*. Rachel's *always* wrong."
"No, she's not," Clark corrected gently. "Hate isn't a nice feeling to have and it twists you up inside." He sat down on the bed next to Timmy in the sparse room. "You'll find that life is a lot easier if you're not insulting people all the time. This time, Timothy, *you're* wrong."
"Am *not*," the boy retorted.
"Timothy, we *never* call names and we don't use bad words, either," Clark said insistently. "You *never* take things that don't belong to you. Rachel's had a hard time, and her mother and I won't tolerate you being ugly to her. Just treat her the way you want to be treated, and we'll be okay. Do you *understand*?"
"Yes, sir," Timmy said sulkily.
"Bath time, and then get ready for bed. Do you need any help?" Clark asked. "I ran you a bath before I came in here."
Timmy shook his head. "I can do it," he said.
"Bathroom's third door on the right." Clark directed. "I'll be in to check on you in a few minutes."
He watched as Timmy trudged out of the room and sighed. Intellectually, he knew that Timmy was just parroting what he'd been taught, but that didn't mean that he had to like it. It was his job as Rachel's dad to protect her, and he hated the fact that Timmy seemed intent on hurting his baby girl. Timmy's attitude would change. It had to.
He got up and followed Timmy into the bathroom to make sure he didn't drown in the bath. Despite the child's insistence that he could do it himself, Clark wasn't about to leave him alone in the tub. Things would work out; somehow they always did.
~*~*~*~
September 30, 1999, 1:30 PM
David Carson's Studio, Metropolis
Henderson escorted Lois and Clark inside the large, cluttered, well-lit building. Clay dust lay thick and heavy near the door, and every surface was littered with projects in various stages of completion. Some were swathed in many layers of plastic, while others lay open to the air and ready for inspection.
A clay-spattered potters' wheel stood in one corner, surrounded by tall, free-standing shelving units that were covered with plastic-swathed shapes that had boards under them. An easel stood in another corner, and stacks of half-used tubes of paint, unused canvasses, and finished canvases occupied another corner.
A rail thin, balding, gray-haired old man came out from behind a stack of wood lugging two medium-sized blocks of clay and dumped them on a table, then walked over to greet them. "Bill," he said with a half-smile that was mostly obscured by his bushy mustache. He wiped his hands on his paint and clay spattered jeans and held out his hand. "Nice to meet you two," he said with a bigger smile.
"I'm Lois Lane and this is my partner, Clark Kent," Lois said with a smile.
"We're from the Daily Planet," Clark finished.
"So you're here to find out about the process and check my progress on the little boy's face?" Carson asked.
"Yes, sir," Clark said.
"If you'll just follow me," he said. "I teach a figure sculpture class at the Metropolis School of Art and Design--I teach them how to construct faces from the inside out."
Carson walked over to the table he'd dumped the clay on and pulled a piece of plastic off a wire stand that supported the skull. "Yes, it's real," he said, interpreting their looks. "The different eraser lengths represent different tissue depths, but since they were determined over a hundred years ago, I tend to add a bit of extra flesh. People are more well-nourished now than they were then."
"So what are all the bands of clay around the skull for?" Lois asked.
"They connect the different depths and provide a base to build on," he explained. "I'll be adding the eyes in next. Bill, did the pathologist determine the race of the child?"
"Caucasian," was Henderson's answer. "So far, all the victims have had blue or green eyes and light brown hair."
"Makes my job easier," Carson commented. He grabbed a small box and extracted a pair of blue eyes, which he then stuck to the clay supports inside the eyesockets of the skull. Carefully, he filled in the space around them, making adjustments until the skull stared straight ahead of himself. With a set of small tools and more clay, he created the upper and lower eyelids, then started adding flesh to the skull.
"How long will this process take?" Lois asked.
"Usually a week, give or take a day or two," Carson said. "A lot of this is done by feel--if it doesn't feel right, it probably isn't. Thirty years of doing this let me know when something is right."
"What about hair?" Clark asked curiously.
"We'll take pictures of it with different hair styles and colors and circulate them," Henderson explained. "I've worked with Dave before."
Carson turned around from his work and smiled. "We use a different kind of clay for this than for regular figure sculpture--it's called plasticene and it doesn't dry out like normal clay. After we're done here, I'll cut it open to get to the skull, clean it off, and the morgue will get it back."
"Call me as soon as it's finished?" Bill asked. "We need to get this boy identified."
"Of course." Carson said absently as he warmed up a piece of plasticene and added it to the skull.
Henderson gestured towards the door, and they headed out of the studio.
"So how effective is this process?" Lois asked finally.
"About 98%. Most people use computers to do the same thing because it's faster," Henderson explained.
"How can you tell what race a person is from their bones?" Clark asked curiously.
Henderson shrugged. "I'm not sure. It has something to do with different bone structure for different races. You'd have to ask Dr. Elizabeth Forrest--she's the coroner on this case."
"Thanks, Detective," Lois said with a smile.
"We'll call if we find anything," Clark added.
"You do that." Henderson waved as they climbed into the Jeep and drove away.
~*~*~*~
TBC...
