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Part 10/11
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"Okay," Clark says as he sets us down behind the Schafer Building. "We're here. Now will you tell me?"
"You didn't check the mattress in the back room, did you?" I ask him as I climb the stairs. I can hear him spinning back into his street clothes behind me. The door is ajar and it squeals a little as I push it open.
Clark follows me into the building. "You think the money is in the mattress?"
"What's the one connection between all these burglaries? The mattress has been destroyed! He's looking in all the mattresses. Maybe Marco only knew that Delaney had hidden the money in a mattress, but didn't know which mattress. So E shows up, tortures Marco, and he tells him it's in a mattress. E could have been in the restaurant or following Marco and saw him talking to us and thought we were in on it. Or maybe he thought that Marco was ratting E out. Maybe that was the 'something special' Marco had for us."
I turn in the doorway of the squatter's room. Instead of looking impressed with my deductive thinking Clark has his head tilted up and he's sniffing the air. "Do you smell fresh paint?" he asks.
"Paint?"
He shakes his head. "Never mind. You were saying?"
I still don't want to go into that filthy, smelly room. "The mattress, Clark. Just look in the mattress for me."
He starts to lower his glasses and then pushes them back saying, "We're not alone…"
A man comes in through the open door to our left. He's about the same height as Clark but much more stocky. He has a short blond crew cut and piercing blue eyes. He's wearing a rumpled dark sports coat and jeans. He stops when he sees us and smiles. "Lane and Kent? Looks like you're early, too."
"Early?" Clark asks.
"Yes, aren't we supposed to meet at one o'clock?"
"Oh, you must be Detective Skousen." Clark holds his hand out and Skousen shakes it. An odd expression crosses Clark's face.
Skousen pushes past Clark to come shake my hand. "So what's going on? How did you two get in here? I thought this place was supposed to be boarded up."
"The door was open," I tell him. Clark blinks and shakes his head.
"Have we met before?" Skousen asks, looking at me. "You look familiar to me."
"I'm sorry," I tell him. "If we have, I don't remember…"
He waves his hand in dismissal. "Don't worry about it. So you didn't say - what are you two doing inside the building?"
"Lois thinks she knows where Delaney's missing money is." What the hell is wrong with Clark? He's leaning his shoulder against the wall like he's tired and his words sounds almost slurred.
"Really?" Skousen's face splits in a grin and then he laughs. "Fantastic! Where is it?"
Suddenly I realize that I have met him before, at a press conference where he gave that same nasty cackle when he was asked a question about police brutality. And at a warehouse only two days ago.
I take a step back, trying to nudge Clark into the direction of the exit. "It was just a theory. I'm probably wrong." I press back harder against Clark but he hasn't moved. I'm looking up at Clark to figure out what's going on with him when I'm yanked back hard against Skousen. His arm comes across my chest and something solid is pushed beneath my chin. I yelp, more out of surprise than pain.
Clark's eyes go wide in alarm and he holds up his hands. "What's going on, Skousen?"
"You tell me," Skousen says. "Where's the money?"
"I don't know," I choke out. "I just thought… maybe…"
"Maybe what?" I hear the click of the gun's safety. "Where is it?"
Clark's eyes meet mine. I shake my head slightly to tell him it's not worth the risk. Don't do anything that would give you away to Skousen.
Clark frowns and his chin dips in the faintest of nods to me.
"It's in the mattress," I squeak. Skousen's arm is so tight around me that it's hard to breath.
"Which mattress?" The gun presses harder under my jaw. "I've checked all the mattresses!"
"In there," I gasp out, flailing my arm in the direction of the back room. "Did you check that one?"
Skousen pulls me into the room with him. "You." He points the gun at Clark. "Go on. Go check." He waves the gun in the direction of the mattress before pointing it back at me.
Clark comes into the room and kneels next to the mattress. He works his fingers into a rip in the corner of the mattress and pulls. The ticking tears back to reveal money. Stacks and stacks and stacks of it. The entire mattress is made of money. All three of us gasp in awe.
Skousen recovers first. "Stand up," he barks at Clark. "Back into the hall. You try anything and Lane here gets it."
We make an unlikely parade as Skousen directs Clark down the hall and through the lobby. There's a door on the opposite side of the grand stairway and he has Clark go first. We tromp down the stairs into the basement. Clark was right earlier. It does smell like fresh paint down here.
"Go in that room," Skousen says indicating the only open door halfway down the hall. Clark starts forward and then stumbles, catching himself against the wall.
"Clark?" A thread of fear winds around my stomach. Is there Kryptonite in the building?
"Keep moving. I've gone to a lot of trouble for you two. A little remodeling, you might say."
"He's been sick," I tell Skousen, my mind racing. "He has food poisoning."
"Not to worry, in a little while it won't matter anymore."
The further we move down the hall, the stronger the paint smell becomes.
"Did you paint in here?" I ask.
"Like I said, I did some remodeling for you. You wouldn't believe some of the stuff we have in the evidence room from Luthor's bunkers. He actually made paint with Kryptonite in it. So if Superman shows up to save you two this time, he'll be sorry."
Clark leans against the wall again, his body wracked with coughing. Skousen gives him a vicious kick that sends him staggering through the open doorway. Skousen pulls me into the room with him. The paint fumes are overwhelming in here. There's only one tiny window, high on the wall, and the room is glowing an eerie phosphorescent green. Kryptonite green.
Skousen slaps a handcuff onto my right wrist and yanks me forward. There's a metal rail running the length of the Kryptonite wall. He passes the free end behind the rail and turns to Clark. "Over here, Kent."
Clark stumbles closer, his face set in concentration. I can see how hard he's trying to appear fine and it scares me even more than the gun. Skousen grows impatient and grabs Clark's arm to pull him forward. As soon as he's close enough he cuffs him to me. Clark slumps against me with a groan, pinning me between him and the wall. I put out my free hand, trying to keep him on his feet.
"Henderson will find us!" I tell Skousen as he starts to walk away.
"No, he won't. I'll tell him we all met up early. I can give him all the pertinent details of your meeting Delaney at the warehouse. He'll think you two left to follow a new lead."
"Are you going to blow us up again?"
"No. I told you someone would burn down the Schafer Building. Let's just make good on that." He raises the gun in salute. "Thanks for all your help."
He slams the door and I hear a bolt slide into its lock. Clark crumples to his knees, pulling me down with him where our hands are bound. His free hand fumbles with the handcuff but it doesn't break. He winces and leans as far away from the wall as the cuffs will allow. His leaning pinches my hand against the rail but I'm too frightened for him to protest.
"Clark?" He doesn't respond and it triggers a wave of panic in me. "Clark? Come on, you have to talk to me. Please!" I tilt his head up to look at me. His skin feels clammy.
He squints at me and gasps, "Lois, I'm so sorry." His face is so pale.
"How is this your fault?"
"I should have… should have done something…"
"No! It wasn't worth the risk. It doesn't matter. It's okay. I'll get you out of here."
He gives me a small smile. "Okay."
I don't know how I'm going to get him out of here. But I am. I have to. He's saved me so many times - I owe him. And it will put a severe damper on both our futures if I don't get us out of here. But how? I pull at the handcuff on my wrist. Again, it's on too tight to slip out of it. Clark slouches against me as he tries to keep away from the wall.
I guess it's a good thing he told me he was Superman or this would have been a dead giveaway. I can't believe Skousen accepted that lame food poisoning excuse. Then again, I know from experience that if you're not looking for Superman, you won't see him.
Duh! My souvenir of Clark's confession! It's in my right pocket but I can't reach it. My right hand is in the air and I can't let go of Clark with the left or he'll be touching the wall.
"Clark, you have to help me here. Can you reach in my pocket and get the key?"
"The key?" His voice is hoarse.
"I saved the handcuff key from Bobby. It's in my pocket. Can you reach in there and get it?"
His head flops in a nod against my neck. His fingers slide into my pocket and then he softly says, "Got it."
I shift to lean more fully against the wall, letting his weight fall against me while I take the key from him. I reach up to unlock him, my hand shaking with fear. What if it doesn’t work?
It does - Clark's wrist falls free. I don't bother with my own hand, in too much of a hurry to move him away from the wall. He tries to stand up, but can't. I drag and he crawls and between us we managae to move him to the far side of the room. It doesn’t seem to make much of a difference. He's still lying on the floor, writhing with pain.
How much time do we have? I glance at my watch. It's just past one o'clock now. Chances are Henderson has come and gone. Skousen still has to move the money. The mattress would be too heavy to drag by himself, so he'll have to do it in increments. If he parks right outside the door he could move all the cash into a vehicle in a half hour, maybe less. I'm certain he won't start the fire until the money's out of the building.
I throw myself against the door a couple of times, if only to establish in my own mind that it's too solid to break down. I check, but the door's hinges are on the other side. I look around the room. There's not much in here. Just us and the paint can and brush.
Clark is gasping for breath. I kneel next to him, loosening his tie and the top button of his shirt. I stroke his hair back while I try frantically to think of something, anything, to get him out of here. I look up at the window. Could we get out that way? The window's pretty small. I doubt Clark could, but I might be able to. I give him a quick kiss and stand up.
I press down on the metal rail along the wall. It seems sturdy enough. It juts out from the wall about five inches at the height of my waist. I might be able to balance on it without falling off. I put my right knee on the rail and then raise my left foot, leaning forward and bracing myself against the wall as I carefully stand up. I'm high enough that I'm looking directly out the window. All I can see is a ground level view of building next door, only a few feet away. I try to push the window open but it's been welded shut.
I hop back down and go over to the paint can. Would it be solid enough to break the window? There's only one way to find out. I take the can to the corner furthest from Clark and pour out the remaining paint. It makes a viscous pool of green that spreads out slowly on the floor. It seeps around my shoes, leaving them slippery enough that I won't be able to wear them on the rail without killing myself.
Once the can is emptied I step back, almost slipping in the puddle. I go back over to the window and toe my shoes off. I balance the can on the rail, tipping it to rest against the wall before I climb back up. I carefully reach down, grasp the can and straighten up again.
I start beating on the window with the can but it doesn't seem to be doing anything except splattering me with the residue from inside. Frustrated, I look over my shoulder. Clark is still lying where I left him, his breathing shallow.
"Clark? You still with me?"
"Yessss…" His voice seems weaker than before.
Deeply terrified I go back to pounding the can against the window. My arms are starting to tire when the first crack appears. Encouraged now, I hit the window as hard as I can. It throws me off-balance and I lurch backwards, wind-milling my arms in an attempt to stay on the rail. The paint can clatters to the floor and rolls away as I fall backwards. I almost land on my feet, then sort of totter and land square on my butt.
Adrenaline drives me to my feet again, although I can feel the beginnings of what's going to be a record bruise as I climb back onto the rail. After I stand up and am confident I have my balance I lean forward against the wall, working my jacket off. I wrap it around my hand and beat against the window where I've left a web of cracks. My fist breaks through and I continue knocking the glass out until it looks safe to crawl through.
I look over my shoulder at Clark again. "I'll be right back," I promise him.
He doesn't move. God, please let him still be able to hear me.
I grab the outside frame of the window with either hand and try to pull myself up. I have to scrabble against the wall with my feet for leverage. Luckily the paint is still tacky enough that I'm able to find some purchase on it. I work my shoulders through the window, wincing as a remaining shard of glass slices across my back. I wiggle my way out into the small alley and then look back through the window.
"Clark! I'm out! I'll be back for you in just a minute."
I rise shakily to my feet and look around. Both ends of the passageway are fenced. I orientate myself and head to the left, towards the back of the building. If Skousen is still there I'll have to leave Clark and go for help. If he's not there then I'll just go back inside, open the door and get Clark out of there.
I have to jump to catch the top of the fence and then pedal my feet to work myself high enough to peer over it. Skousen isn't there. I pull myself the rest of the way over, landing in the alley behind the Schafer Building. I tiptoe to the back door. Still no sign of Skousen. I creep just inside the building and look around the door into the back room. All the money is gone. Worse yet, I think I can smell smoke.
I run through the lobby and open the door to the basement. Fire! Flames dance in front of me. Skousen has set the stairs on fire. Self-preservation takes a backseat to the fact that Clark is dying down there. I raise my arm to protect my face while I try to determine just how on fire the stairs are. It looks like maybe it's only the first few stairs that are burning. I take a deep breath and launch myself through the blaze.
I come down hard on the fifth step, lose my balance and bounce down the remaining stairs. I pat myself to check for fire. My sleeve seems to smolder a little but I think I actually made it. My ankle is killing me, but that's nothing compared to how Clark must be feeling.
I limp down the hall to the door. I try to move the bolt but I'm shaking so hard that I'm ineffectual. The fire behind me seems to be growing louder, driving my panic higher. The slide finally pushes back and I pull the door open. Clark is still slumped on the floor.
"Clark?" I check him for a pulse. He's still alive. His eyelids flutter and he mumbles my name. I stand up and pull him towards the door. Then I stop. Half the stairs are now engulfed in flames. I look around despairingly. I barely got me through that window, there's no way I could get him out. Nor could I pull him up those stairs, even if they weren't on fire.
This is bad. I tug him into the hallway, hoping that he'll recover a little if I can just get him away from the Kryptonite. Maybe I can put him in another room while I go get help? The smoke is starting to effect me, I feel lightheaded and dizzy. Luckily, Clark's on the floor so the smoke isn't a factor for him - yet.
I glance at Clark. No sense in telling him to stay, he's not going anywhere. I race along the hallway, checking each room but all the doors are locked. The last door is a bathroom and it swings open. I run back to Clark and grab his blazer, tugging as hard as I can. He slides a couple of inches.
"Come on!" I tell myself through gritted teeth. "Come on!" I walk backwards down the hall, pulling Clark along with me. My wet socks slip on the floor. My ankle is screaming every time I put weight on it. My arms feel like jelly. Finally I make it to the bathroom and lug him past the door.
His face is ashen and streaked with the paint that has flecked off of me. I try to wipe it away but it leaves little trails on his skin.
"Clark, I don't know what else to do! I'm going to have to leave you here." Tears have started running down my face. His lips move and I lean down to catch what he's saying.
"Go… get help." It's barely above a whisper.
I bend down to kiss him, my hands stroking his face and chest as if to memorize him. "I love you, Clark." I have the most awful premonition that I'll never have the chance to tell him so again.
"Love… you… too..." he mumbles, his face creased with pain.
Choking back a sob, I rise but turn in the doorway, taking one last look at him.
"Hang on, Clark. For me. Please. I'll be right back with help."
I swipe away my tears as I limp back down the hall. I can cry later. I can't fall apart now or Clark… I can't fall apart right now. I'm hoping that moving him away from the Kryptonite wall will help. The flames have spread all the way down the stairs as I head back into the green room
It seems to take forever for me to work my way back onto the rail and out the window. The same damn glass shard cuts into my back. I swear I can hear Clark screaming in pain but maybe I'm just projecting. I weave drunkenly down the alley towards the front of the building. My entire body feels like one large bruise.
"Help! Help me!" I call out as I try to climb the wooden fence between me and the street. "Fire! Somebody help!" I'm shaking so hard I can't get over the fence. I'm stuck there, crying and calling for help when a car passing by stops. It's Henderson and he looks just as astonished to see me as I do to see him.
"Call for help," I beg him as he gets out of the car. "Clark's in the basement. The building's on fire. Call for help!"
He gets back in the car and I see him raise the radio mike to his mouth. After a brief exchange he comes over to help me, pulling me over the fence and setting me down gently on the sidewalk. I must make quite the picture. My clothes are torn and bloody. I'm spattered with paint. I have a handcuff hanging from my wrist. I'm not wearing shoes and I'm so filled with fear that I can't stop shivering.
"It was Skousen," I tell him. "He's the one who tried to blow us up at the warehouse. And now he's set the building on fire and Clark's trapped in the basement…" I grab Henderson's arm. "You have to help me get him out of there."
"Don't worry, Lois. I've called the fire department. Besides, I'm sure Superman will show up before they get here."
I want to scream with exasperation but I can't. "Please, Inspector, just help me!" I turn to go back towards the building but Henderson pulls me back. "I can't let you go in there. Just sit tight…."
I hear sirens in the distance. They don't seem to be getting any closer. "We can't wait," I yell. "We just can't! Please, help me!"
Henderson shakes his head and tightens his grip on my wrist. "Don't make me use those handcuffs, Lois. It's too dangerous. You're not even wearing shoes."
As the fire trucks pull up alongside us the front of the building collapses, sending up a huge shower of sparks. Henderson pulls me back into the street with him.
I think again of kissing Clark and how I knew, just knew, it was for the last time. How could I have failed him like this? After all the times he's saved me, to lose him like this is the cruelest twist of fate. My knees wobble and I remember with regret how he made my knees go weak just last night.
I should have kissed him more. And now I'll never have that chance again.
