The ringing was the first thing she noticed as she surfaced from the pleasant blackness of unconsciousness. She thought at first it was a ringing in her ears – a side effect of whatever drug he had dosed her with yet again to keep her in the dark place.
But then the smell of smoke began to penetrate her senses too. Not the sooty scorched smell of a fire that had been extinguished. Not the ashy stench that clung to her hair and clothes after she covered an arson until she showered and washed her hair twice with the shampoo that smelled like rose hips. This was the hot, acrid smell of burning. And then she realized the ringing was a smoke alarm.
Fire.
She struggled to find her way to the surface; to open her eyes and discover her surroundings. But the pull of the darkness was so tempting, so strong.
In the darkness, there was no fear. No guilt. No regret.
She reached for it, but it retreated. Instead, she began to remember. The drive to work, her mind focused on her impending meeting. The “Lot Full” sign in front of the entrance to her office parking garage. Her resignation as she circled the block and found a spot on the street. The elderly man with the cane in the alley who had asked her to help him throw his trash bag into the dumpster.
And then.
The cloth over her mouth. The stars swirling behind her eyes. The darkness.
When she awoke the first time, slowly and painfully, tied to a chair in the dark, dank room that she would eventually realize was a part of the sewer system, the old man with the cane stood before her, transformed. He still wore the oversized cardigan and wool pants, an old-fashioned cap on his head. But he was no longer hunched over with age, and it was Lex Luthor’s face that stared at her, his eyes watching her gleefully as she struggled ineffectively against her restraints.
“You thought I had forgotten about you?” he gloated. “You thought you could destroy my whole life and walk away without repercussions?”
Her tongue had been thick in her mouth, her head throbbing. She couldn’t form a single word in response.
“You thought I was cowed. You thought you won. I was never defeated, only lying in wait,” he snarled.
He strode around the room, back and forth, making her dizzy with his motion. “As if I could be defeated by a reporter and some cops. I’m Lex Luthor. I own this city. I run this town. I answer to no one but myself.”
“The fires,” she croaked out.
His face lit up. “Ah, yes, you think you’re so smart. Figuring out I was behind those fires. That was no secret. Those fires were a message, and you were my messenger. Honestly, I can’t believe it took you as long as it did to put it together. Losing your edge, Ms. Lane? Resting on your laurels?”
Her mind spun, trying to process this information.
“No one crosses Lex Luthor. No one. When they swore loyalty to me, that loyalty was for life. For life! Not just until I… As if there were any prison bars strong enough to hold me.”
“They turned to Intergang,” she whispered, her head still throbbing.
“Intergang,” he spat, as if the name itself tasted bad in his mouth. “They thought Intergang could offer them protection that I couldn’t? How did that work out for them?”
A part of her wanted to be elated. She was right. Her theory. Her investigation. It was all right.
But what good was that to her now, tied to a chair in the sewer, listening to the ravings of a mad man?
She had tried to struggle, tried to free herself. She tested her arms and legs and found them all bound. Her left wrist throbbed, sharp daggers of pain radiating out from it every time she chafed against her bindings.
“Don’t even bother,” he said dismissively.
“Why?” she said.
“Why?!” His voice was incredulous. “You set this whole thing in motion. You-”
“No,” she said, interrupting. Her head was starting to clear, questions taking form as the fog rolled out. “Why am I here? Why are you holding me? I understand you want revenge, but why kidnap me?”
“Well, I tried having you shot,” he said contemptuously. “But good help is so hard to find these days.”
It took her a second to process that. “On my front steps,” she whispered.
“It was supposed to be an easy shot,” Luthor scoffed. “He never shut up about his guns. He had a whole collection. He claimed to be an excellent marksman. And yet…here you are.”
The guilt – the grief – was overwhelming. Clark had been right. Those were gunshots. And she had dismissed his fears; had mocked his experience. She was so sure, even after they’d made up and she agreed to take her safety seriously, that she was right. That he was overreacting. That he had imagined the gun shots.
She was so ready to trust her own instincts. So ready to laugh him off as inexperienced and naive. He had been absolutely right from the very beginning.
If she had called the police immediately, if she had gone with him to Smallville, if she had gone into hiding…she wouldn’t be here now, struggling to stay conscious as a man she despised gloated about how he was going to kill her.
He had continued to rant about Intergang and Bill Church and all his disciples who had abandoned him for this new messiah. He cackled gleefully, imagining their fear at his second coming.
She had listened in horror, her mind racing, trying to gather and catalog all the information he was revealing. And all the while, a small voice inside her whispered that none of this mattered.
Because he was going to kill her.
She would never write another article. Some other reporter’s byline would be above the story of the epic battle between Luthor and Intergang. And buried somewhere deep in the paper, under the details of the fires he had set and the companies he had destroyed would be the obituary of the Pulitzer prize winning reporter he had murdered.
She started to panic, pulling at the ropes that held her, screaming for help. He muttered a curse under his breath, breaking off his soliloquy, and strode quickly to her side. And then the rag was over her face again, and the blessed darkness descended.
Twice more she had awakened in the sewer, and listened to him brag about his escape from prison, his ability to move about the city undetected, and his disposal of his getaway driver turned attempted hitman whose body he dumped somewhere in the sewer. Both times, she had wracked her foggy brain for a way to escape, desperate to find a way out. Both times he had tired of her and knocked her back out, the looming darkness both a threat and a comfort.
This time, however, she was not in the dank, damp sewer. He had moved her while she slept, blissfully unaware. She didn’t know where she was. Somewhere dark. Some windowless office perhaps. One of his old buildings? She was tied to a different chair now, something soft and large, imposing. In front of her lay a desk, a large executive desk, the mahogany wood gleaming.
She was definitely in an office. An executive office. Though one without a view. That was unlike Luthor, who bragged about looking down on the city.
She took a deep breath and tried to shake off the effects of the drug he had used on her. She felt her heart begin to race, her adrenaline kicking in as her nostrils filled with the smell of smoke.
She blinked her eyes, forcing herself to look around. She needed to know where she was. She needed to look for a way to escape. The walls were lined with television screens, all of them blank and dark. She struggled against her ropes, crying out as her wrist twisted against the bonds. She was gagged, she realized. She hadn’t been gagged before. He must have added that while she was unconscious the last time.
There were no windows. There was just one door, a large heavy door, under which smoke curled in thin wisps.
It was hopeless, she realized. Unless someone out there knew where she was, knew where to find her, she was trapped. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t yell. All she could do was sit and wait.
Clark.
She ached for him. Ached to see his face, to feel his arms around her. What they shared yesterday morning – the way he touched her and loved her – it had been a promise. A preview of the life they could have together. He was everything she never knew she always wanted. Needed. And somehow he had found her. And he had waited patiently for her. And now he was offering her a future she had never dreamed was possible. A future she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything in her entire life.
And they were never going to get to have that future.
She would never feel his touch again. Would never see that look in his eyes again. Would never hear him whisper her name again.
Her eyes filled with tears. The lump in her throat burned.
The future that they dreamed of but weren’t brave enough to talk about in detail yet – the future she had seen in his eyes when he woke to find her working at his kitchen table, when he watched her read a picture book to Caleb on the porch swing. That future would go up in smoke with her.
And Clark would be left behind to mourn her. The grief she was feeling now, he would have to live with indefinitely. How long would he mourn her? How long would he ache for her?
She choked back a sob, tears threatening to overwhelm her as she realized he would be forced to bury her, to watch her photo be splashed across the news. And then he would have to watch everyone else move on, while he alone grieved for the life they should have had. The future they should be creating together.
She was so thankful he had worked his way past her defenses. So thankful for the time they had together. The best weeks of her life. But it wasn’t enough. It was only supposed to be the beginning, not the end.
Clark. Clark. Clark.
Lois closed her eyes as the room began to fill with smoke and focused on the memory of his face, letting her heart call for him again and again.
Clark. Clark. Clark.
And then…he was there.
There was a horrific crash, the splintering of thick wood, and he stood in the doorway, flames raging behind him, smoke rushing to fill the room.
She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, sure for a moment it was a hallucination or dream or trick of unconsciousness. Or that she was already dead and this was the mysterious hereafter.
She squinted, coughing, then gagging on the thick band of cotton that crowded her mouth. The smoke began to clear rapidly, and as it began to dissipate she saw Clark again, still standing in the doorway, inhaling deeply as if sucking up the smoke through an invisible straw. When the air was clear, she saw him turn his face out the doorway and blow, exhaling an impossible amount of smoke into the hallway beyond.
Before she could process what she had just seen, he was at her side, faster than her eyes could track. He crouched beside her, easing the gag from her mouth.
“Clark?” she said.
“Lois,” he said, his voice shaking. “Oh my god. I thought…. Oh, thank god. It’s okay, honey. You’re okay. I’m right here.”
“How?” she said. “What did you…”
She looked past him to the hallway, where the fire raged. The flames licked at the door frame, trapping them in the room.
She looked up at him, at his sweet face, furrowed with worry and determination, and the tears began to fall in earnest, her body wracked with sobs that turned to wheezing coughs. He was here. He had found her. Somehow, he had found her.
But they were going to die together in this room. There was no escape. And now her foolishness would be the end not just of her, but of him. She couldn’t bear it.
He reached behind her, snapping the ropes that bound her as easily as she would brush away the strands of a spider’s web. He reached down and did the same with her ankles. How? It made no sense. She had been struggling against them with every ounce of desperate strength she could muster. And he snapped through them with the flick of a finger.
Her hands, finally freed, went to her aching head and came away bloody. She must have hit her head at some point.
Then he pulled her into his embrace, his arms wrapping around her, and her head swam with the joy of his touch. She had been aching for him all day. She rested her head against his chest, his heart hammering in her ear, and choked back a sob. He was the best man she had ever met. And she was going to die in his arms. There was no beauty in this tragedy, just a blistering, aching regret.
If only she had listened to him. If only she had done what he’d asked, hiding in Smallville or even a hotel room. But she had insisted on staying. On working. And now she would pay the ultimate price – not just her life, but the knowledge that her choices had meant the end of his life as well.
A strangled cry escaped her as she thought of all the people who would mourn him. His parents. His family. His friends. Sophie and Caleb. His students. His team. She had stolen him from all of them.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, stroking her hair. His words were soothing, but his voice was shaking. He was every bit as terrified as she was. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”
It wasn’t though. As much as her heart soared to hear those words, it was definitely not okay.
“Are you hurt?” he asked quickly, pulling back to look her over.
She shook her head. “The fire….” She glanced past him to the flames that were beginning to encroach on their sanctuary. The splintered door went up in flames like dried kindling. “I’m not burnt, but I think my wrist is broken. I must have fallen on it when he grabbed me.”
He held out his hand, and she reached out her injured arm. He took it so gently, so tenderly, that she felt the tears well up again. He reached up with his free hand and slid his glasses down to the tip of his nose, and looked intently at her injured wrist, ever so gently rotating it so he could see the back and the front.
“It’s not broken,” he said with a gentle authority that made no sense, sliding his glasses back into place. “It’s just a bad sprain. It’ll be okay. Let’s get you out of here.”
“Clark,” she said, her voice breaking as she looked past him again to the flames. There was no getting out of here. The hallway was fully engulfed. The floors were crumbling. Even if the flames would not consume them, the structure was too damaged to navigate safely.
“Look at me,” he said, and she did. His face was so serious, so focused. “Hide your face in my neck. Stay as close to me as you can. Don’t look around.”
She didn’t understand. And then he scooped her into his arms and curled his body around her, and she did what he had told her, tucking her head into his neck. And then the world was moving, like a blur, like… like they were flying. That wasn’t possible. They couldn’t be. But they were. She could feel the flames and the air as they licked at her, the debris falling all around them, glancing off of her.
They landed with a hard thump, and Clark uncurled his body and leaned back to look at her where she still lay in his arms, his eyes frantic. “Are you okay?” he asked.
“I’m…fine,” she said. And she was. She was fine. The flames were behind them. In front of them, a glass door that led to a back courtyard, the glass shattered.
She coughed, overwhelmed by the smoke, and that seemed to spur him into motion again. He pulled her closer as he ducked through the shattered door and ran with her in his arms around the side of the building. She could hear sirens and frantic voices growing louder as they approached. She sagged against him, eyes closing, overwhelmed and confused by everything that had just happened.
“Lois!” he said, his voice tight with fear. “Stay with me. Do not go to sleep. Take some deep breaths, honey.”
She did as he said, opening her eyes and sucking in a deep breath. She was wracked with coughs again, her throat burning.
“You need oxygen,” he muttered.
As they turned the corner, rounding the front of the building, she saw a huge crowd of firefighters and police separated from even more reporters and onlookers by yellow crime scene tape. Clark had slowed his pace to a brisk walk, and she took the opportunity to lift her head and look around. Multiple ambulances were on the scene treating minor injuries and Lois realized there must have been others in the building when the fire broke out.
The building. She looked around, realizing abruptly exactly where she was. The CostMart corporate headquarters. She let out a sad little laugh, prompting another coughing fit.
She heard her name, and her gaze moved to the side, where she saw Perry huddled with Henderson, a ring of uniformed officers surrounding them. Clark didn’t slow or acknowledge them, his course set for the nearest ambulance.
Henderson approached at a run, Perry close on his heels, calling her name.
Henderson reached for her, and Lois clung tighter to Clark’s neck, not ready to let go of him.
“Don’t touch her,” Clark snarled with a venom she had never heard in his voice, and her heart ached for him.
She stroked his neck, resting her head back on his shoulder. “I’m okay,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”
He shuddered, and she could see how tenuous his hold was on his emotions. “You need oxygen,” he said softly. “They can ask you questions later. After I get you to the ambulance.”
The ambulance in question was just a few steps away now. The EMT’s were bandaging a small burn on a woman's arm.
“She needs oxygen!” Clark called, making a beeline to them. The EMT’s snapped to attention, scrambling for supplies and pulling out a gurney.
Clark sat her gently down on the gurney and she clung to him, panic rising in her throat. Moments ago she had been sure they were both going to die. She didn’t understand how they were alive. She didn’t understand anything. She just knew she was desperate for him not to leave her side.
“It’s okay,” he whispered. “Let them treat you. I’m not going anywhere.”
He peeled her hand from around his neck and stood, facing the two EMTs, a man and woman in their 20s in matching uniforms. “She’s inhaled a lot of smoke. She needs oxygen. She also has a head wound and an injured wrist.”
They nodded their thanks and set to work immediately, sliding an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, and she clung to Clark’s hand with her uninjured one, keeping him close.
“Lois!” Henderson said, and she knew exactly what he wanted.
“Luthor,” she confirmed, pulling down the oxygen mask to speak. “He snatched me on the street. The deck was full. I parked on the street. He was waiting for me.”
She began to cough, wheezing for air, and Clark reached over and held the mask to her mouth, glaring at Henderson.
Lois put her hand over his, stroking gently to soothe him, and took a few deep breaths through the mask. When his hand stopped trembling, he slid it out from under her hand, and stroked her hair instead.
Lois pulled the mask down again just long enough to finish her story for Henderson. “He drugged me. Held me underground in some abandoned area of the sewer system.”
“Lay back,” the female EMT said, patting the raised bed behind her. “Let me look at this head wound.”
Lois leaned back against the bed, taking a deep shuddering breath, and then another. The oxygen was cool against her scratchy throat. She took another deep breath, the fog slowly lifting as the reality of what had just happened, how close she had come to death, settled on her.
If it hadn’t been for Clark….
She paused. If he hadn’t…. Hadn’t…busted though a solid wood door? Hadn’t…sucked up a room full of smoke and blown it out into the hallway? Hadn’t…carried her through the flames? Hadn’t…flown her to safety?
Her eyes went to him, and she knew they were full of all those unasked questions. He flinched, and then looked around, as if realizing for the first time where they were and what he had done.
Henderson began to pepper her with questions she couldn’t answer about how Luthor got her into the building and where he had gone.
But her eyes were on Clark, the detective’s questions falling on deaf ears. His hand slipped from hers, and she watched as Clark took a step back, his eyes like a hunted animal.
She closed her eyes, completely overwhelmed, and tried not to think about anything other than breathing.
