(Strong language in this section, folks!)
Pain exploded in his head, forcing him to double up and then crumple to his knees. Muscles spasmed in agony, nausea rose in his throat, and cold dread settled in the pit of his stomach.
Kryptonite.
A rough hand jerked his chin upwards and, through a mist of pain, he found a gun pointed at his head and beyond that, a very familiar-looking face. “My God, the arrogance,” it snarled. “Calling yourself a super man. You’re no more a man than a cockroach.”
PART EIGHTEEN
“Trask,” he gasped. How had he...? A disguise, that must be it. Trask was wearing the same clothes as the taxi driver.
Trask sneered. “In the flesh. I’ve come to exterminate you, cockroach. I should have done it years ago, but I was persuaded - against my better judgement - to just watch you instead. What a frigging waste of time.” He grimaced. “Have you any idea how disgusting it is to watch a cockroach? To watch it eat? Watch it grow? Watch it copulate?”
“You...you bastard.” Clark wanted to take a swing at him, but there was a gun and he was feeble and uncoordinated... He sucked in a deep breath and tried to stabilise his reaction to the pain. What was pain, anyway? It was just a physiological warning system, wasn’t it? Didn’t actually stop you moving. “Did you kill her?”
“Who? Oh, you mean your whore? No, much as I’d like to take the credit for that, she did it herself.” Trask shrugged. “Saved me the work. Maybe I should thank her parents - since I can’t thank Lana herself.”
“Leave them...alone!”
“Yeah, they’re probably still recovering from the shock of discovering their daughter was married to a cockroach.” Trask suddenly released his chin, causing him to lose his precarious balance and crash forward onto the carpet. Dazed and nauseous, he pushed up weakly with one hand to find that Trask had stepped back a couple of paces and adopted the classic two-handed police stance.
Clark’s heart leapt into his mouth as Trask spoke. “Ready to die, cockroach?”
No, he was not. In fact, he’d hardly begun to live. There was so much still to do.
But if Trask was asking first and not merely firing immediately, then surely that meant there was a seed of doubt in his mind? Buy time, buy time... “How do you expect to get away with this, Trask? How will you dispose of my body? How...how will you explain the bloodstains on the carpet?” The gun, Clark had already noted, was equipped with a silencer so there was no risk of anyone hearing the shot.
He began to focus away from the pain again. Mind over matter. He could do this...
/Yes, you can, Clark! Focus on me. Listen to my voice and let me help you./
Clark! He’d forgotten his counterpart. //I...I can’t think...//
/Don’t try to talk to me. Just listen. The pain isn’t there, okay? I’m handling it for you. All you have to do is gather your strength./
“My unit will clean up.” Trask shrugged. “There are procedures.”
/Feel the strength returning, Clark. Feel it coursing through your body. Any moment now his attention will drop just a fraction and that’ll be your chance./
Clark took deep breaths, focusing on his anger and hatred for this man. Everything that had happened to him was because of this man. Lana had been this man’s pawn. She’d died because of this man. This man was evil.
“Are you sure they’ll clean up?” he rasped. “Is this an authorised killing, or are you operating alone?”
“What’s it to you, cockroach?” sneered Trask. “Time to die.”
“No!”
Clark’s heart leapt again, for the protest hadn’t come from his lips, but from a new voice. A female voice.
**************
Slumped in his pew, Clark gritted his teeth against the pain. He’d no idea how it was possible, but the agony coursing through him couldn’t be denied: he’d successfully transferred his counterpart’s pain into his own body.
/You’re getting stronger, Clark. I can feel it./
Actually, he could feel no such thing, but if he could transfer pain across universes, he reckoned anything was possible.
//Lois!!!//
Clark’s mental shriek of distress pierced through his brain. Shocked, he folded forward and held his throbbing head in his hands.
/She’s there with you?/
No answer.
With dread rising rapidly, he tried again.
/What’s happening?/
****************
Trask’s attention shifted and Clark sprang. With hatred and venom coursing through his veins, he launched himself at Trask like a panther attacking its prey. Crashing into him, he thrust both hands under Trask’s arms and shoved upwards in a frantic attempt to neutralise the gun.
They both toppled to the floor and the vicious spit of the silenced gun sent a wave of terror through Clark. “Lois?” Was she hit? Was she okay?
Waiting anxiously for her answer, he grappled with Trask, fighting to get possession of the gun. Trask was strong and used his entire body as a fighting machine, legs swinging and kicking, torso twisting and turning, arms gripping like cords of steel, but Clark had seething, boiling anger on his side. He fought for his life, for Lana’s life, and for all the lives this bastard had probably ruined. Vicious blows rained over him, but he didn’t feel a thing.
“He missed me.”
Relief spurred him on and he fought harder, roaring like an animal as he brought all his strength to bear against his opponent.
Suddenly, Trask went limp beneath him.
Clark continued to fight, fearing his opponent was playing possum, but when his hand closed around the gun and there was no resistance from Trask, he stopped and scrambled to his feet.
Trask lay in a crumpled heap, his mouth hanging open and his eyes closed.
“Did I hit him too hard?” Lois was standing to one side, holding a heavy table lamp in both hands and peering down at Trask.
Clark bent stiffly and felt for a pulse. “No, he’s still alive.”
Her mouth twisted. “Pity.”
/What’s happening?/
The other Clark sounded frantic with worry. //It’s okay.// Clark straightened and trained the gun shakily on Trask. //Lois knocked him unconscious.//
/Thank God. You went so quiet... Is he tied up? What...what about the kryptonite?/
Clark nearly dropped the gun in surprise. He’d forgotten the kryptonite – could hardly even feel it. His head was swimming and his legs felt like jelly, but there was no pain. //How...?//
/Just find it and...and get rid...of it. Hurry./
***************
Doubled over in pain, Clark heard a door open and footsteps come down the aisle. Darn. Just what he didn’t need – another visitor to the church. He hoped he just looked like someone deep in prayer rather than a person in excruciating agony.
The footsteps came closer and then, to his chagrin, he felt a hand on his back.
“Are you all right, son?”
The voice was kind and fatherly. Squinting sideways, he saw a pair of brown shoes peeking out from beneath a black robe.
“Yes, thank you.”
A fresh wave of pain made him renew his grip on the back of the next pew. Please. Please let him find the kryptonite soon and get rid of it...
“You’re in pain,” observed the voice.
“It’ll pass soon.” Hopefully.
“Can I get you anything?”
“No, but thank...you for asking.”
“Okay.” The hand left his back, the shoes turned and footsteps receded down the aisle again.
Time to ask again. /What’s happen-/
Abruptly, the pain left his body.
Relieved beyond belief, he sagged against the wooden pew and waited for his head to stop spinning.
//Lois found the kryptonite...and put it in a...box she found in...the bathroom.//
Good for Lois. He’d ask later where she’d suddenly sprung from. /Good. Are you okay? You sound funny./
//I’ve been...better. Really weak. You?//
He grimaced. /Also been better./ He hauled himself upright in the pew and drew in a slow breath. /But I’ll live. Is Trask tied up?/
//Yeah. Thank you for...whatever you did.//
/Beats me, but you’re welcome./
//Okay, Lois wants me. Talk to you in a few.//
/Sure./ He guessed that, in his severely weakened state, Clark wasn’t yet up to holding two conversations simultaneously. Not surprisingly – he still felt a little light-headed himself.
Glancing up the church, he saw the minister approaching with a glass in his hand. “Here,” he said, sliding into Clark’s pew and handing over the glass of water. “You look like you need this.”
Clark took the glass and sipped. “Thanks.”
“Aren’t you Jonathan Kent’s son? Clark, isn’t it?”
Clark blinked, surprised to be identified by someone he’d never met before. His parents didn’t even attend church regularly. “That’s right.”
The minister chuckled. “It’s a small parish and I’m a frequent customer of your father’s hot dog stand at the corn festival.”
“I get it.” He sipped some more water. “Dad loves running that stand.”
“I know – it shows.” The minister smiled. “I don’t often see you in here, Clark.”
“No, I live in Metropolis these days.”
“Ah, yes – journalism, isn’t it? I imagine that keeps you pretty busy.”
“Yes, it does.” Clark could almost hear the minister wondering why he was in Smallville in the middle of the working week, and quickly added, “But I come out here whenever I can to visit my folks.”
The minister nodded. “It’s good to keep in touch. There’s nothing like the support a close-knit family can bring to each other.” He cleared his throat. “Of course, sometimes it’s easier to talk to an outsider, especially if you want to avoid upsetting loved ones.”
Clark felt himself the subject of a fairly searching and steady gaze. He nodded. “True.” Understanding where the minister was headed, he handed back the glass and stood up. “Luckily, that’s not a problem for me.”
The minister stood with him. “I’m glad. Illness is a hard cross to bear alone.”
Clark shook his head. “I’m not ill. That was just...a cramp.”
Again, he felt the knowing gaze as his reply was assessed. “I see.” The minister held out his hand for Clark to shake. “Well, our door is always open, Clark. Come by any time. Remember that God watches over all of us, wherever we may come from.” He nodded briefly in the direction of Clark’s pew, then smiled warmly and turned back up the church.
Puzzled by the minister’s words, Clark glanced downwards and felt his heart do a backwards flip plus a double somersault.
Where he’d been gripping the back of the next pew, a deep hand-shaped dent was clearly visible.
****************
By the time Trask began regaining consciousness, Clark was feeling slightly less like a limp dishrag and slightly more like a rational human being. Granted, every inch of his body ached and he was bone-weary, but at least thinking had stopped causing his head to spin.
Which was fortunate, because he had a lot to think about. Trask, much to his surprise, was now his prisoner and he intended to make the most of the situation. In preparation, he’d already phoned Lana’s parents and told them he would be delayed. His words had, understandably, met with a very frosty reception, but perhaps his weak, faltering voice had persuaded them that his reasons were genuine, because they’d agreed to phone the church and have the funeral postponed by an hour. The other Clark, meanwhile, had returned to work having insisted that Clark contact him in time for the start of the funeral.
Lois was standing a few feet away from their prisoner, training the gun steadily on him as he awoke. Clark himself was sitting on the chair Lois had helped him onto when he’d collapsed earlier.
He’d received a potted account from Lois of how she’d followed him here, intent on being with him for the funeral whether he liked it or not. She’d just drawn up outside the motel when she saw a taxi drive up and familiar-looking man get out. A few seconds later, she’d identified the man as none other than Jason Trask, the man she’d seen talking to Lana back at the abandoned school. Guessing the room he’d entered was Clark’s, she rushed to follow and discovered him preparing to shoot Clark.
Trask grunted and opened his eyes. From his twisted position on the carpet, he squinted up at Lois. “That’s government property you’re holding, whore.”
“Watch your mouth, Trask!” barked Clark.
Trask’s gaze swivelled slowly around. “What else should I call women who invite you into their bed, cockroach? Sluts? Prostitutes?”
“I said shut-“
“Don’t listen to him, Clark,” said Lois. “He’s just trying to rile you.”
“And doing a pretty good job, by the sounds of it,” jeered Trask. “How can you stand to let it touch you? That’s what I don’t get. Makes my flesh crawl just to look at it.”
“Say what you like, Trask,” said Clark. “She won’t listen.”
“Sluts seldom do, in my experience.”
Impatient with Trask’s foul mouth, Clark leaned forward in his chair. Stiff and bruised muscles protested loudly as he moved, but he managed to keep his expression stoical. Trask was not going to get the benefit of seeing him suffer. “Let’s forget the cheap insults and get down to business,” he snapped. “I want to know about Lana. How long had she been working for you?”
“That’s classified information, cockroach.”
“Did you recruit her as a child? Did you tell her to keep all those journals about me?”
Trask shrugged. “Classified.”
“Maybe I should just shoot him,” suggested Lois.
“You won’t shoot me,” sneered Trask. “You haven’t got the guts.”
Lois cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?” Her hands flashed right a fraction and the gun spat harmlessly into the carpet. Trask flinched. Aiming at him again, she smiled with a manic gleam in her eye. “Silencers are a wonderful invention, aren’t they?”
Clark eyed Lois, impressed by her ability to play-act the tough gunwoman – until he remembered her anger when she’d discovered Trask had been filming their lovemaking. Perhaps she wasn’t play-acting after all...
“I’d start talking if I were you, Trask,” he advised. “Lois wasn’t very happy when she found out you had cameras planted in our bedroom.”
Trask snorted, but to Clark’s ears it sounded like false bravado. Lois had definitely managed to rattle him. In fact, Trask didn’t know Lois well enough to have any idea how she might behave. Clark himself was beginning to think she might well send a bullet into Trask if he angered her sufficiently.
“I wouldn’t have to shoot anything vital,” said Lois plaintively. “Just a foot or something. He’d still be able to talk.”
“Yes, but think of the mess he’d make of the carpet, sweetheart.” Clark was beginning to feel like one half of Bonnie and Clyde. “Come on Trask, Lois is getting impatient. When did you first meet Lana?”
“You really want to know, don’t you, cockroach?” He shrugged. “Okay, I’ll tell you. The day after your so-called parents died – that’s when I spoke to her. They didn’t want to co-operate, you see, so we had to dispose of them and find a new recruit. Little Miss Patriot was the perfect choice.” He laughed. “She lapped up every word I told her, staring up at me with those big, round patriotic eyes. Her parents would have been proud of her.”
Clark felt what little colour was left in his face drain away. The room tilted. “You...you killed them?”
Trask shrugged. “What can I say? They made the wrong choice. They should have chosen patriotism over cowardly sentimentality.”
Murdered. His parents had been murdered. The car wreck...
Running towards the car...the blast of hot air that had rocked him backwards when the car had exploded into flames...standing helpless, watching his parents die...
Murdered.
His head swam. Trask became a shapeless blur on the carpet. Reality dissolved into nothingness. He heard his own voice, low, husky and full of hatred. “You bastard.”
“Clark, don’t do anything-”
But he was out of his chair and seizing Trask to rattle him back and forth like a rag doll before Lois had finished her sentence. Rage consumed him, coloured his vision a deep blood red. “You bastard, you killed my parents! You filthy bastard! How could you? They were kind and generous. I loved them. They loved me. You...you bastard!”
His rage temporarily spent, he flung Trask to the floor and stumbled away.
“Clark...”
“Tell me everything.” The fury had returned. He whirled back and grabbed Trask off the floor again. “When did you speak to them, what did they say? What did you tell Lana? How did you convince her to spy on me? Tell me, or I swear I’ll take that gun and use it on you myself.”
His voice wasn’t his own. It growled, aggressive and violent, at the pale face that loomed before him, a dim shape floating amidst the red haze filling his vision.
“I didn’t speak to them,” said Trask. “We sent a tame government official - the farm was failing so we offered them certain...incentives. Extra tax breaks, special one-off payments – that kind of thing. All they had to do in return was send us weekly reports of your activities and take you for monthly medical exams. The fools refused. Some sentimental crap about freedom and civil liberties.”
“So you killed them?”
“They knew too much and they were in the way. The nation’s security was at stake.”
“The nation’s-” Clark couldn’t believe it. “And that justifies murder?” he demanded. “Your ignorant, bigoted paranoia was enough to convince my own government to kill my parents?”
“They’re not your government,” retorted Trask. “This is the planet Earth, alien. We don’t work for you or your kind.”
Furious, he shook Trask again. “Shut up and keep to the subject. Tell me about Lana.”
“She was easy. Little Miss Patriot already knew what you were, so I just told her that we needed to know everything about you so that we could protect you. Bad men would come and take you away if we didn’t keep close watch over you.”
“You told her to keep all those diaries? To call me a...a thing?”
“Only because that’s what you are. Yes, I told her to keep the diaries, although I didn’t really need to know what flavour popcorn you liked best or how many times you brushed your teeth in the morning. I needed to know what you were capable of and what you were plotting for. But she took her duties very seriously, did Lana.” He grinned nastily. “I had no trouble at all persuading her into your bed when the time was right.”
“I don’t believe you.” Because to believe Trask was to believe that he’d all but raped her. That she’d been an unwilling participant the first time they’d made love. Those bright eyes gazing up so trustingly at him – how could he have misunderstood them?
“Believe it, cockroach. Oh, she may have wanted you, but I told her when and where. Hell, I even supplied the condom. Want to know the make?”
“No.” Disgusted, he dropped Trask again and stumbled into the bathroom. He couldn’t take any more. Slamming the door behind him, he leant up against it, breathing heavily.
His parents murdered. Lana taking instructions from Trask on their sex life.
His knees buckled and he slid clumsily to the floor. The bright bathroom lights, chrome fittings and white tiles swung dizzily around him in a sickening kaleidoscope. His gut twisted in on itself and bile rushed up his throat, barely giving him time to grab the nearest receptacle – a small metal bin – before he retched.
Where did it all end? When did he emerge from this dark tunnel into the bright light? Just when he’d thought he was beginning to pick himself up and build a new life, everything crashed down on top of him again.
“Clark?”
It was Lois, knocking on the bathroom door. “Are you okay?”
No.
He pushed the bin away. “Yes,” he called. “Don’t leave Trask unguarded.”
“He’s out cold. He hit his head when you dropped him.”
Oh. “Is he...?”
“He’s still alive. Can I come in?”
He closed his eyes. She mustn’t see him like this. Broken like a puppet without its strings. “Give...give me a minute.”
He scrambled to his feet and staggered to the sink. Turning on the tap, he splashed cold water on his face, hoping the shock would bring him to his senses.
It didn’t, but he towelled himself dry and opened the door nevertheless. She stood before him, the gun held loosely in one hand, her face creased with anguish. “I don’t know what to say to you.”
“There’s nothing you can say,” he replied, feeling curiously empty of emotion. “There are no words for this.”
“I...I wanted to kill him.”
“Me, too.”
“But we can’t.”
“No.”
She stepped into the room. “What can we do?”
“I don’t know.”
Her nose wrinkled as she detected the sour aroma rising from the metal bin. “Oh, Clark.” She swept her free hand over his forehead. “You’re ill.”
He shook his head. “I’m angry.”
Because suddenly he was, having now seen her so upset and in so much pain. His own anguish was one thing, but for Lois to suffer at Trask’s hands...
He pushed past her and strode out to Trask, who was stirring groggily on the carpet and struggling feebly against his bonds. “Listen to me,” he commanded.
When Trask didn’t respond, he bent down and pulled Trask up so that their faces were inches apart. “Can you hear me?” he demanded.
Trask’s eyes lolled loosely and his eyelids blinked rapidly. Clark waited a few moments until he began to focus and then asked again. “Can you hear me?”
Cold eyes narrowed and heavy eyebrows lowered as Trask recognised his questioner. “Yeah, cockroach.”
“Then listen and listen well.” Clark’s rage was ice cold this time, an iron fist wrapped tight around his emotions. He knew exactly what to say and how to say it. “You are the cockroach. You are the insect the rest of society is going to stamp on. Because the difference between you and me, cockroach, is that I do not murder. I do not kill. I save lives. And I will continue to save lives, no matter what you do.
“You will never defeat me, or terrorise me, or prevent me from helping those who need me. I will grow stronger while you grow weaker. Your threats will be meaningless. People won’t believe you when you try to discredit me. Why? Because they can tell the difference between good and evil. They’ll know that you are the evil that needs to be stamped out of their lives.
“So we’re not going to kill you, Lois and I. Killing is too easy. We are going to defeat you by winning the hearts and minds of our fellow human beings. By using the laws of this country to put you in jail for the rest of your life.”
Clark yanked Trask even closer until he was staring directly into his eyes. “And make no mistake,” he growled. “I am human. You are the cockroach.”
Trask stared at him in silence for a moment, his gaze unflinching. When he finally opened his mouth to speak, his voice was flint hard. “To my last dying breath, I will hunt you down and kill you.”
“What with?” scoffed Clark. “Your green rock doesn’t appear to work any more.” Without waiting for an answer, he let Trask go, this time taking care not to make him bang his head again.
Standing up, he turned to a white-faced Lois. “Phone the police. This man needs to be arrested for attempted murder.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
Forty minutes later, Lois pulled up outside the Langs’ house. Reaching across for his hand, she said, “Are you sure you want to do this? I could run inside and tell them you’re too ill to attend.” She squeezed his hand. “Which wouldn’t exactly be a complete lie, you know. You look awful.”
He shook his head. “I want to do this – even more so after everything that’s happened. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay. You’ve got my cellphone number?”
“Yes, and I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave the reception afterwards. I won’t stay long.”
She lifted his hand and kissed the knuckles. “Remember to contact the other Clark. I’ll feel happier knowing he’s with you.”
“I will.”
“And don’t let them upset you with their cold shoulder treatment.”
“I won’t.” He glanced up to the house and saw the door opening. “I’d better go.”
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yeah.”
*************
