31
“Thank you for the flight home, Clark,” Martha Kent says as I set her down gently on the porch of their farmhouse. Jonathan picks up their luggage and carries it inside, his mouth set in a tight frown.
“You’re welcome, Martha,” I reply, stepping back a bit. I glance nervously around her to where Jonathan had disappeared inside the house. The tension from him on the flight had been quite disconcerting, and I’d really tried to ignore it. But I still remember his words from Saturday afternoon, when no one knew I was outside the apartment listening in, and my jaw clenches. “Is there anything I can help you with before I leave? It looks like Mr. Kent has already taken care of all the luggage.”
“No, I think we’re fine here, Clark. But, again, thank you for everything. Thank you—” her voice breaks as she speaks— “thank you for bringing my boy home.”
I smile weakly at her, committing this moment to memory. Her bright, kind eyes and soft smile remind me so much of my mother.
“I’m glad I’m here to help.”
Jonathan Kent scoffs from behind the screen door, although I wouldn’t have heard it without my keen hearing. With difficulty, I manage to avoid reacting to it, and I instead grin wider at Martha, who hugs me amicably. I close my eyes and also commit the feeling of this hug to memory.
“I’ve got to get back to Metropolis or I’ll miss the morning staff meeting,” I say, pulling away from Martha. “Please don’t hesitate to call me if you need anything.” Martha nods, and I raise my eyes to where Jonathan stands. “You too, Mr. Kent. If you need help with anything, I’m more than happy to come down.”
He just turns and walks back into the house. I swallow hard and try to control my reaction. I smile again at Martha and nod, then take off back toward Metropolis.
Monday morning is busy in the city, but there are no major traffic accidents to deal with, and the roads are fairly clear. The Sun shines brightly, despite the cold temperatures, and I soak it in before landing on the roof of the Daily Planet building. I then spin into my work clothes and hurry down the stairwell. I hear Lois chatting with Marcy Burns as I exit onto the third floor, and a wave of relief washes over me. When I’d picked up the Kents this morning, Lois had been getting ready for work and said she’d meet me at the office. And I’m really glad to see that she’s indeed here.
My eyes meet hers from across the newsroom, and she smiles and waves at me. Then, she gives Marcy a brief hug, excuses herself, and grabs two cups of coffee before walking briskly over to meet me at my desk.
“Good morning, again,” she greets me, setting down the coffee in front of me and settling on the edge of my desk.
“Good morning. And thank you,” I reply as I pick up the coffee and take a long sip of the steaming hot liquid.
“You’re welcome.” She glances at the clock on the wall. “You made it on time. I was worried you would get stopped on the way back from Kansas,” she adds, her voice low.
“Nope. Everything is quiet this—”
Oh why did I have to say it?
“…The Amtrak passenger train is en route to Washington, D.C. and is reporting a failure of the brake system. This could be catastrophic as the train approaches the crowded and busy Union Station…”I frown at the breaking news broadcast that triggers my superhearing, and my hand reaches up to loosen my tie as I stand.
“I jinxed it,” I say with a wink. “I should be back before the meeting starts though.”
She grimaces at me. “Sorry. Be careful.”
I nod and jog off toward the stairwell. I spin into the suit as I fly up the stairs and then launch into the sky toward Washington, D.C. I listen ahead as I approach the out-of-control train. Passengers huddle in their seats, frantically calling their loved ones on their cell phones, and the train’s conductor speaks anxiously into his radio. One other train is stopped on the tracks ahead, and the two trains will collide soon if I don’t intervene. I speed up just a little and then position myself at the front of the runaway train. My hands find the most solid spot to apply counterpressure, and I gradually slow the train to a stop, monitoring the passengers inside to ensure no one is caught off guard by the change in speed. Cheers of joy and relief fill my ears, and I smile to myself. I allow the train to continue coasting on the tracks until we reach an empty platform, and I stick around for just a few minutes to be sure the passengers are able to disembark safely. Then, I speed back to Metropolis.
A moment later, I’m straightening my tie as I sneak in the door to the conference room and squeeze into my seat next to Lois. Perry stands at the front of the room and nods to me briefly before starting the meeting. I glance at Lois, who smiles at me with a questioning look, and I tilt my head toward the TV broadcast on a monitor in the corner of the room. The muted broadcast shows a somewhat dramatic video playing of me bringing the train to a stop and then some edited footage of me helping several of the passengers off the train and speaking with the police officers at the scene. She bows her head as though to say, “Ahhhh, good one,” and then looks back up to Perry, who is now describing recent changes made to the Planet’s computer system. Her hand covers mine on the table, and I steal another glance at her. She’s tied her long, dark hair back in a high ponytail today, and her eyes are bright, showing none of the distress from our discussion last night.
The meeting continues uneventfully, and after another thirty minutes or so, we are dismissed to go work on our stories. Lois and I walk hand in hand out of the conference room, and she then leads me over with her to her desk. I pull up a chair as she opens up a file folder and boots up her computer.
“So, um, we should finalize the Lex Luthor article today, you think?” she asks, turning in her chair to face me.
“I suppose we can,” I reply, reaching out and thumbing through the pages in the folder she’d opened. I stop on one page of notes from our interview. “I feel like we’re very close to finding the evidence we need to connect him to Intergang, but who knows when that breakthrough will come. And in the meantime, Perry doesn’t like that we’re just sitting on the interview of the century.”
“Right,” she agrees. She clicks a few buttons on her computer to open up the draft of our article and scrolls through to the bottom of the text. “With what we know, I just hate to publish this as is. It makes him look like a genuine philanthropist and all-around good guy. Are you sure that you can’t just, you know—” she lowers her voice to a whisper— “fly back to his penthouse and supersnoop around a bit?”
I grimace and shake my head. It’s not the first time she’s made such a request, but I’ve explained to her already that I really do not like to use my powers to invade others’ privacy, even if it’s the privacy of a suspected criminal. From what she’s told me, her Clark was the same, and it would frustrate her to no end.
“Sorry, you know the answer to that already.”
“Can’t blame a girl for trying,” she laughs.
She sounds relaxed and assured, and I again detect no hint of her anxiety from the previous day. Good.
“So, what do you think about this final paragraph then?”
She highlights the paragraph with her cursor, and I lean in a bit as I read it. Her writing is clear and concise, and although the style is much different from mine, I appreciate it. I nod agreeably.
“Good, it’s good. I think it ties everything together well but doesn’t put Luthor up on a pedestal like he’s expecting we will.”
“Right,” she concurs. She picks up a pencil absently and taps it on the folder on her desk. “Maybe he’ll take issue with it and make a mistake somehow, give something away.”
“We can hope.”
“Okay, well, I’ll send this to Perry,” she says as she uploads the document to the Planet’s internal server and starts an email to Perry. “And then we have that press conference with the Church Group in an hour. Since we have the time, I’d really like to stop at home to, um, check on him before the press conference.”
“Of course,” I respond immediately. “Remind me about the Church Group. They didn’t exist on my world,” I add quietly.
She stands up, grabs two thick folders from the top drawer of her desk, and hands them to me as we start off toward the elevators.
“Here’s my files on them. You can read them in the car,” she says. She pushes the ‘down’ button to call the elevator and crosses her arms over her chest as we wait. “In a nutshell, Bill Church and his son own a chain of Cost-Mart stores in and around Metropolis, along with a bunch of other businesses, including gas stations, restaurants, et cetera.”
“Right, and they started the Church Group—”
“—as a philanthropic organization. Since Superman was gone, the focus of the group was on supporting law enforcement to stop crime. However—”
“—crime rates actually increased in the areas in which the Church Group was active,” I finish for her as we step onto the elevator.
I flip quickly through the first folder she handed me, reading at superspeed. Something grabs my attention, however, and I flip back several pages and run my finger down a column on the right side of the page, which lists business affiliates of the Church Group.
“Lois, they have quite a few dealings with Luthor Corp.”
The elevator doors open to the parking garage, and we step out together as I hand her the page. Her eyes widen as she reads, and she grabs my arm and drags me toward her Jeep.
“And the announcement they are supposed to be making at the press conference today is that they are expanding their Cost-Mart chain to New York City—”
“—which is where Luthor Corp. is based.”
She unlocks the Jeep, and we both climb in. Moments later, we are speeding along on our way back to her apartment. I’ve already read through all of the information in her folders, twice, and I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that we are about to uncover something big—a link among Intergang, the Church Group, and Lex Luthor. Maybe I’ll reconsider exploiting my abilities to get some evidence if it means taking down Intergang…
Lois turns sharply onto her street and pulls into a parking spot just outside her building. She’s been quiet for the last few minutes, and now, she takes a deep breath and closes her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest briefly. Straightening up, she grabs her purse and reaches for the door handle, but then pauses.
“Do you want me to come up with you?” I ask gently. She shakes her head.
“No, I just—I’ll be right back. Thank you, though,” she answers, meeting my eyes with a small smile.
And then she exits the car and disappears up into the building. I close my eyes now and extend my senses out around the city, listening to the familiar sounds of traffic and pedestrians and police scanners and pigeons. A homeless man a few blocks away sits on the sidewalk, talking to himself in Polish, and I frown as I hear his stomach growl with hunger. I’ll stop by later and bring him something to eat. Maybe some dumplings from a small café I know in Warsaw. Nothing I hear requires super help right now, so I shut off my superhearing and rest my head on the window, waiting for Lois to return.
I suddenly hear her voice calling me from her apartment.
“Clark, please help me, I need you right now!”
There is a note of urgency in her voice, and I quickly glance around to ensure I won’t be seen and spin into the suit as I exit the car and launch myself up toward her window. It is open, and I fly in and land next to her in the otherwise unoccupied living room. She rushes up to me, her hands wringing together nervously.
“He’s not here, Clark. He’s gone. I came up here, and the door was unlocked, and he’s not here.”
I can feel the fear in her voice, and I immediately envelop her in a calming embrace as I reach out to him telepathically.
Clark, where are you? Lois shakes in my arms and presses her hands against the blue spandex of my suit, and I can tell she’s struggling not to cry. His concerned voice resonates in my mind.
“What’s the matter? Is Lois okay? I just needed some fresh air. I’m across the street from her apartment at the park.” I turn my head slightly to look across the street. Sure enough, he sits on a bench, a small bag of birdseed next to him and a group of about ten pigeons flocking around, pecking up loose seeds from the ground. He pulls his baseball cap down lower and scoots to the edge of the bench as though to stand.
Everything is fine. Sorry, I should have led with that. Lois wanted to come check on you, and she got worried when you were not here. I’ll bring her to you. I feel him sigh with relief, and I pull back out of my embrace with Lois. She looks up at me, her big brown eyes filled with dread.
“Did you find him?”
“Yes,” I answer with a weak smile. “He’s fine. He just needed to get outside. He’s across the street at the park, feeding the birds.”
“Oh, thank God,” she whispers, collapsing against me.
Her racing heart steadies somewhat as she takes several deep breaths. I lift her into my arms, cradling her gently, and float us out the window and across the street. Clark looks up as we approach, a mixture of love and trepidation in his eyes. He starts to push himself up to stand, but she motions to him to stay sitting, and she nearly jumps out of my arms as we land and hurries over to him. I lower my eyes as she wraps her arms carefully around him and breathes kisses on his cheeks and lips.
“God, Clark, I was so scared when you weren’t there.”
“I’m sorry, hon,” he says, his voice muffled in her hair.
“Thank you, Clark.”His voice echoes in my head, and I look up and meet his eyes. He smiles weakly at me and nods, and I nod in response.
Tell her I’ll meet her at the press conference, whenever she’s ready.He again nods and then closes his eyes as he tightens his grip around her, burying his face into her hair. I hear him murmur “I love you” into her as I jump into the sky and head toward downtown, where the press conference will be starting any minute.
Their love is so strong and palpable, and witnessing it firsthand makes me both happy for them and jealous. I mentally kick myself as my conflicting emotions twist my stomach into knots. No, no, no. That’s not okay.
I’m glad for them, really.
I want them both to be happy, really.
I shake my head as I land in an alley about a block from where the press conference is being held and spin back into my work clothes.
Seeing her happy—seeing her whole again because he’s here with her, where he belongs—that is enough.
It has to be enough.
I walk briskly down the street toward the large group gathering in front of the Cost-Mart store ahead of me.
Yes. Seeing her happy. It will be enough.
32
I don’t see her again until much later in the day—after the press conference concludes, after I go back to the Planet and write up a short article on the announcement of the new Cost-Mart expansion to New York City, and after Superman foils a bank robbery and clears up a seven-car pileup on the highway. From Perry’s office, where I’m listening to a lecture about how important financial stability is to a relationship—because, yes, I admitted to him that I still had not contacted Sharon Anderson regarding the offer to publish Clark Kent’s extended memoir—I hear her heartbeat as the elevator doors open.
I turn my head toward her, and our eyes meet briefly. She waves at me, almost shyly, and then heads to the coffee station for an early afternoon caffeine boost. In front of me, Perry clears his throat.
“Son, now, that’s what I’m talking about,” he interjects, setting his coffee mug down loudly on his desk. I tear my eyes away from her and back to Perry. His expression is stern now, and he points out in the general direction of the elevators. “That little lady of yours, she deserves to know that she’s taken care of and to not have to worry about financial hardship. Lord knows she’s been through enough the last four months. Call Sharon Anderson, Clark.”
I bow my head in acquiescence and push my chair back from his desk.
“Sorry, sir, things just got away from me this weekend,” I explain quickly as I stand. “I didn’t get a chance to speak with Lois about it yet. I’ll take care of it today.”
“All right, Clark, all right.”
I nod and hurriedly exit his office, heading straight to Lois’s desk to meet her. She’s just settling into her seat as I approach, and she takes a cautious sip of her coffee while booting up her computer. Her strong, steady heartbeat and relaxed demeanor suggest that everything at home is resolved. She looks up at me as I sit on the edge of her desk.
“Everything okay with Perry?” she asks, glancing to Perry’s office.
“Yeah, he just…”
I trail off, my mind wandering. I should just tell her now, I think. It’s not that big of a deal, right? I mean, it should be a quick conversation, although the three of us—her, me, and her Clark—probably need to discuss it together as well. But…actually, there are many details that will have to be ironed out. Questions flood my mind. Who will do the writing? Who will be the financial beneficiary? Or should all the money go to charity? And, of course, the real problem—the real reason I’ve put off having this conversation—if I stay here, in this world, as Superman, while he resumes his life as Clark Kent, how will I make a living? Could some of this money help to secure my own financial future?
And does she know enough about how much her fiancé was affected by his experiences to know that his time as Superman is over?
“Can we talk in private for a minute, Lois?”
She hesitates, her eyes darting to the conference room, which is again empty, just like it was when we “needed to talk” on Saturday.
“Sure, okay,” she answers.
We both stand, and Lois takes my hand and leans against me slightly as we walk together toward the conference room. I swallow hard as my hand tingles where she touches me. Soft, smooth, warm skin. My thumb starts to rub the back of her hand, as I might have several days prior, but I manage to stop myself.
Oh boy, I need a distraction right about now. My free hand reaches into my pocket, and I pull out the notebook page that Perry had given me on Saturday morning.
“What’s that?”
I release her hand, gesture for her to enter the conference room ahead of me, and then shut the door behind us.
“It’s…an offer for a book deal,” I admit, unfolding the paper and handing it to her.
She raises her eyebrows at me and then lowers her eyes to the paper. Her reaction is telling—she exhales sharply and sits heavily in the nearest chair as her eyes widen at the number on the page. She then shoves the paper aside and buries her head in her hands for a moment.
“Lois—”
“This is Perry’s handwriting,” she states, her fingers tracing the numbers on the page. She looks up at me abruptly, disbelief in her troubled brown eyes. “And Sharon Anderson—I know her. She’s with Chicago Review Press.”
I nod and sit next to her. “Perry said she called with this offer—it’s an advance. They want to publish Clark Kent’s extended memoir on his trip to New Krypton.”
“That’s—that’s an advance? Clark, that says—”
“I know,” I interrupt, reaching out to take her hand. The familiar touch feels almost wrong now, however, and she pulls away. “P-Perry told me about this on Saturday morning, r-right before, um, we figured out about Clark. I’ve been meaning to tell you.”
She is quiet for a minute, just staring at the page. I cannot read her expression, however, and I scoot back my chair, stand, and start pacing the room, my hands shoved deep in my pockets.
“I’m sorry, Lois, Perry is pushing me for an answer, and I know it’s not my decision to make,” I fumble, stopping with my back to her. “My initial thought—before we found out he was alive—was maybe I could write the memoir, and we donate all the money to charity. But now, everything has changed. I…I don’t know what tomorrow or next week or next month brings—for me, and for you, and for him…”
I turn around to face her. She watches me curiously, her lips pursed in a frown.
“And I don’t know whether he’s talked to you about…”
I hesitate again, and her confused expression suggests she has no idea what I’m getting at. I run a nervous hand through my hair and start pacing again. We need to sit and talk, all three of us.
“About what, Clark?”
The question lingers in the air for a moment. But then she stands and steps across the room toward me, and my resolve to let him decide how and when to tell her begins to falter. Our eyes meet, and I can see her fear. I swallow back my indecision. I cannot break that trust I’ve built with him, or with her. It has to be his decision. I shake my head.
“Nothing,” I say in a feeble attempt to redirect the conversation. “I, uh, just need to know what your thoughts are on how we should handle this. Perry is pushing me to call Sharon Anderson back, and I don’t know what you want to do.” I close my eyes. She is only two feet away from me now, and I can feel her eyes boring into me, studying and interpreting my words and body language. She’s perceptive. I’m sure she knows I’m hiding something. I quickly add, “Or what
he wants to do.”
She backs away a step, moving closer to the table where the notebook page sits. Her cell phone rings in her pocket, and she seems to welcome the distraction.
“Hello? …Oh, yes, hi, Dr. Klein… No, I haven’t spoken with Superman yet today, but maybe Clark can get a message to him…” She looks up at me with wide, uncertain eyes as she listens to the man on the other end of the phone line. “Okay, I’ll let him know… Thank you, Dr. Klein.”
She hangs up and slowly puts her phone back into the pocket of her suit jacket. Her eyes close as she sits down, her hands reaching up to rub her temples. Tension creeps into my shoulders as I watch her.
“What’s wrong, Lois?”
With a loud sigh, she looks up at me and shakes her head.
“We just can’t catch a break here, Clark. That was Dr. Klein at S.T.A.R. Labs.”
I don’t recognize the name. “I-I’m sorry, who is Dr. Klein?”
“Oh, right, um—he’s Superman’s unofficial doctor, I guess. He’s helped us out quite a bit, figuring out how Superman’s powers work, along with other…stuff. But, um, he wants me to get a message to Superman that…” Her voice trails off as she holds my gaze. Then she shakes her head again and picks up the paper with the offer from Sharon Anderson. Shakily, she continues, “…the kryptonite has been taken from the vault at S.T.A.R. Labs.”
“Kryptonite?” I can’t keep the alarm out of my voice. I’ve only encountered the deadly glowing green rock once, but that was enough to terrify me. The memory is seared in my mind—blinding pain, like white hot shards, stabbing through me, accompanied by weakness and, worst of all, an inability to protect those around me. I feel my hands shaking, and I quickly shove them back into my pockets. “Why does he keep kryptonite? And who would have taken it?”
Lois traces her fingers along the edge of the notebook paper, taking her time in formulating a response.
“Lois?”
She looks up at me, sympathy in her eyes.
“Sit, Clark,” she instructs, motioning to the seat next to her. I oblige, but my heart pounds in my chest. I hate that I am so terrified; I’m supposed to be the strongest man in the world, and yet I’m scared of a stupid green rock. She reaches over and puts one hand on top of mine. “S.T.A.R. Labs is supposed to be one of the most secure buildings in Metropolis. Clark entrusted the kryptonite to Dr. Klein, who has been studying it for him and trying to develop a, uh, vaccine, I guess you could say, to protect him from the effects of the radiation.”
“Oh.” My voice still trembles, and I adjust my glasses anxiously. “But someone stole it?”
“Well, no, not exactly,” she answers. Her eyes drop to the table, and she squeezes my hand. I can feel her shaking too now. Her next words are slow and quiet, and she closes her eyes. “S.T.A.R. Labs was purchased by Luthor Corp. a couple months ago. Dr. Klein told me that Lex Luthor personally came to S.T.A.R. Labs an hour ago and confiscated the kryptonite and all of his research on Superman.”
My stomach does a somersault. If there were any doubts about Luthor’s intentions, they are now gone. I exhale hard and pull my hand away from Lois’s as I stand up to pace the room again.
“All of this can’t be a coincidence,” I state. The dots start connecting as I recall some of her prior research on Intergang, Luthor, and the Church Group. A shudder runs through me, and I turn to her abruptly. “Lois, I think Luthor is—or maybe is about to be—the new head of Intergang.”
33
I hover above the bank, scanning as the scene below me unfolds. Two men in ski masks point their guns at the bank tellers and yell their demands. A third man keeps the bank customers, disarmed security guard, and other staff members huddled in a corner, threatening them with yet another oversized firearm.
Don’t forget due diligence. I scan one more time to ensure that none of the suspects are carrying any scary green rocks. All clear. I speed down and disarm each of the three men before depositing them with the police cars pulling up outside the bank. I then head back into the bank to check that everyone inside is fine. An older gentleman seems to be experiencing some chest pains, and I quickly transport him to the hospital to be examined. Then, I launch back up into the sky, grab the bag of croissants I’d left on the roof of the bank on my way in, and head toward Lois’s apartment so that the three of us can talk.
I’m not looking forward to it, though, and I’m tired. Since late yesterday afternoon, I’ve been busy stopping crime all over the city. For whatever reason, criminals seem to have suddenly decided that Metropolis is now a free-for-all. Banks, jewelry stores, car dealerships, museums, and even grocery stores. Nothing seems safe. Every time I stop one heist, another alarm blares. Nonstop all night long. The activity spilled over into other highly populated cities nearby, including Gotham and New York City, almost like a coordinated attack. Which has me concerned that it may actually be a coordinated attack. And with Luthor now in possession of the largest known chunk of kryptonite and documents detailing exactly how the rock affects Superman’s physiology—my physiology—I’ve been careful to scan ahead at each robbery before just speeding in. So far, none of the deadly green rock has shown up. But it’s still early.
I land in the alleyway next to Lois’s building and spin into my work clothes, opting for the front door rather than the window today. A moment later, I knock lightly on the door of apartment 501 and straighten my tie as I listen to the rustling inside the apartment and wait. I suppress a yawn—wow, am I really that tired?—and paste a smile on my face as the door opens. Lois’s kind eyes meet mine, and she smiles at me before ushering me inside.
“Good morning.”
Clark’s cheery voice redirects my attention from Lois to the kitchen, where he stands preparing coffee. He looks much better than four days ago, when I pulled him out of the Sun; his cheeks are no longer gaunt, the color has returned to his skin, and he stands tall and straight, showing no signs of debilitating chest pains.
“Good morning,” I reply with a nod. “I brought croissants from a café in Lyon. We had the same one on my world, actually. The lady who owns it—”
“Marie?”
I smile. “You know it then. Kaova Café.”
“Yeah, it used to be my favorite,” he says, moving three full coffee cups to the table. “Milk and sugar?”
“Oh, no thank you, I just drink my coffee black.”
He makes a face, but then laughs. “Suit yourself.”
Lois moves past me to help set the table, and I follow. I set the food on the table and sit across from Clark. The smell of the coffee entices me, and I reach out, pick up my mug, and take a long sip as Lois opens up the bag of croissants. A smile grows on her lips.
“You got me the chocolate filled one,” she exclaims, picking out the biggest croissant, which oozes a delicious dark filling. She takes a big bite and then sets it on her plate.
I just smile and take one of the plain croissants. Clark copies me, and we all sit in silence for a moment and enjoy the pastries. Finally, Lois speaks up.
“So, um, Clark and I talked about the memoir and other stuff,” she says slowly, her hand reaching out and settling on his back.
He chews his croissant pensively, his eyes glued to the table and his expression otherwise unreadable. I shift my gaze back to Lois, who clears her throat before continuing, her voice trembling slightly.
“Clark and I both, um, well, we know that you’ve already done so much for us—coming here and helping out both as Superman and at the Planet—”
Across from me, I see Clark tense up, his hands balling up into fists and his jaw clenching. Lois senses the change in his demeanor and stops in the middle of her sentence, turning her head toward him. A wave of frustration and anger hits me as he raises his eyes to mine, and I swallow hard as I push back against his emotions, recognizing them as not my own.
What is it? I ask him silently, my eyes holding his troubled gaze. He continues to glare at me for a moment, but does not respond to my question. Instead, he finally drops his eyes back to the table and takes another bite of his croissant.
Lois rubs his back gently, blinking back some strong emotion of her own.
“We were hoping you’d be able to help us with this too,” she mumbles, her eyes refusing to meet mine. “With the memoir, that is.”
Another wave of bitterness from him almost startles me out of my chair, but I hold myself still. I don’t know whether his emotions are directed at me or whether they are just so strong that he can’t hide them. In any case, I’m feeling as confused as ever right now. But I lower my eyes and nod.
“I’d be happy to help, of course,” I reply, trying to keep my tone light.
Guilt. Resentment. Hostility. Sadness. His mixed emotions flood my mind.
I try again to connect with him.
Clark, what’s bothering you? But I can feel he’s blocking my message. I wish I could just as easily block all of his incoming emotions. They continue filling me. Now there’s rage. Red, hot rage. And images of his sword slashing through enemies. Blood on the dry, dusty earth next to his black boots. Nausea and a stabbing pain in my head.
Stop it, man. Please. I get it. I beg him to stop, but again I feel that he’s not allowing any incoming messages.
“Great,” Lois says, breaking the tension building between him and me. “Um, we talked a little about the money. It’s…a lot of money,” she adds breathlessly, shaking her head. “Clark, do you want to tell him what we were thinking?”
She gives him a sideways look, and I can see she’s uncomfortable with whatever they’d decided, which makes me uncomfortable. Clark quickly shakes his head.
“No, you can…please…” His voice is weak and laced with anxiety.
My discomfort grows, but I do my best to hide it, adjusting my glasses and giving her a weak smile.
“Okay, um, well… We were thinking that you could do the writing, using the journals and Clark’s help, if you need it, and then we could essentially, um, split the money. We’d donate our half to charity, and your half, you could keep to use for… I mean, until…”
She trails off, lowering her eyes to her hands. My stomach twists into knots. Until what, Lois? I almost say it out loud, but I stop myself. I feel the intent behind her words. I’ll make it easy on her.
“For when Clark returns to the Planet, so I’ll have income to live off of,” I finish for her. My voice is steady, unemotional, business-like even. I need to know more though. My voice is quieter now, as I add, “And I assume you talked about—”
He must have known my intent—he is after all much more skilled at our telepathic connection than I am—because an unexpected barrage of emotions and images hit me hard, forcing the air out of my lungs. I shut my eyes in a futile attempt to block the images, but they keep coming. Similar to when I was caught in visions of his memories, I am pulled into these new images as though I am him. I kneel over a fallen comrade, who begs me not to let him die, and I cover his gushing gut wound with my hand in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Then, I’m racing next to Lieutenant Ching, and my sword swings in unison with his as we rip through a line of enemy soldiers on our way toward the hill where Lord Nor waits; I feel total disregard for anyone standing in my way, my only focus on my goal—to get to Lord Nor at the top of the hill. Then, I parry a swing of an enemy’s black nanotech-coated scythe, pull my hidden dagger out of its sheath, and stab the smaller weapon into the man’s side; I feel the man’s life leave him as the weapon pulses with white energy.
More images and visions—all the same.
Hundreds of victims.
He’d killed hundreds.
And I can’t block it. They keep coming. And he shows me how much he hates himself for it. There is anger, guilt, shame. He almost—almost—wants to die. And he hasn’t told Lois all of this. He can’t stand the thought of her knowing. More images of lifeless bodies and fallen soldiers. And fear. His own fear. It is overwhelming. He knows that with every kill, he loses a little more of himself. I feel tears threatening to fall.
God, please—please, stop it. Even my mind’s voice trembles now. I repeat myself, a little stronger.
Clark, I understand. Please, don’t show me anymore. I open my eyes. He stares at his plate, his hands clamped down on the table. Lois looks at me expectantly, since I never finished my sentence. But as my eyes shift to her, he inundates me again with images and emotions. Stronger than before. I can’t take it.
“Kal, that’s enough,” I growl aloud, closing my eyes again and pushing back against him with all my willpower.
His Kryptonian name rolls off my tongue without conscious thought—but it works. He seems startled out of the hole he’d buried himself in, and he abruptly sits up, pushes his chair back from the table, and stands. A moment later, he disappears into the bedroom, and the door slams shut.
I hear Lois’s heart racing across from me, but I can’t look up at her yet. She lets out a shaky breath.
“Clark, what just happened?” she asks quietly. I feel her eyes on me, and I slowly shake my head and allow myself to take a deep breath.
“Sorry, Lois,” I apologize, my voice sounding hoarse.
I’m not sure what to do or say now. I want to keep his trust, and hers for that matter, but I can’t avoid explaining to her why I just nearly yelled at her fiancé. I lower my voice. He’ll hear me anyways, if he’s listening telepathically, but it makes me feel slightly better if I try.
“I can’t tell you, because it’s not my place. But I need to say this at least…” My expression softens as I see concern in her deep brown eyes. “Clark—he’s been through too much. More than you know. More than you can imagine. And because of his experiences, I’m afraid that he will probably never be Superman again.”
She sucks in a breath, but doesn’t reply. Her head turns toward the bedroom, and after a moment, she closes her eyes.
“About the money—whatever you guys decide, it’s fine,” I say. “I am happy to help with writing the memoir, and I’ll continue to be Superman here and Clark Kent as well, until he’s ready to return to work. And when that happens, we’ll figure out what to do. And I’ll go along with whatever you guys want.”
I pause a moment as my thoughts catch up with me. Then I add, “I’ve been welcomed here, on your Earth, so much more than back on my world. I have no desire to return there, even if that means changing my lifestyle to accommodate his return to work, when he’s ready. I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, but it’s not my story to tell.”
She nods in understanding and then stands, her eyes now glued on the hallway. I expect her to hurry off to check on him. I can’t sense his emotions at all now—he’s effectively blocked me out, again—but I can hear an unsteady heartbeat and raspy breathing. He’s struggling—a panic attack maybe, like Lois mentioned the other day. I shut my hearing off to give him privacy. Across from me, Lois sits back down at the table.
“He just won’t talk to me, Clark. I don’t know what to do,” she admits. Her croissant sits unfinished in front of her, and she absently reaches out and picks up the pastry, but doesn’t take a bite. She sets it back down and glances down the hallway again. “He…he says that he wants to be honest with me, but—” Her voice catches in her throat, and she looks back down at the table, steadying her shaking hands by clasping them together in front of her. She continues, “—but then he says that he doesn’t think I’ll love him anymore if he tells me the truth…” Tears slide down her cheeks. I desperately want to hug her, to comfort her, but I don’t move.
I try for a moment to put myself in his position. They’d made the decision together that he would go to New Krypton to help, knowing that it was dangerous and that he may not return. But neither of them had had any idea that he’d be forced to take lead in a bloody war and that he’d be forced to kill—something he, and I, had always avoided at all costs. He’s shown me, whether or not he meant to, that he tried to approach the problem in a different way—he argued and debated with them and tried to develop a diplomatic strategy. But in the end, Lord Nor had forced his hand, and he’d not only fought and killed, but led his troops expertly, as though he were born for exactly that reason. And despite his skill at leading, and at combat itself, every time—every time—he struck down an enemy, he lost himself a little more.
He feels he’s no longer the same person he was when he left her, and I don’t disagree with him. But he has to know that she still loves him; she will always love him.
Concentrating hard, I try one more time to break through his block.
Clark, please listen to me. This is important. I feel his attention shift to me. He has calmed himself a bit. Good.
I know this is hard. But you’re hurting her more by not telling her than you would be by being truthful. She needs to know what you’ve been through. No, she doesn’t need to know everything. She certainly doesn’t need to know everything you just showed me. But she is strong, and she loves you. And nothing—nothing you tell her will change that. You have to talk to her, Clark. I stop, raising my eyes to meet Lois’s.
“You’re trying to talk to him—I mean, telepathically—aren’t you?” she asks quietly. Her fingers fiddle with her coffee mug now, and she shifts her eyes nervously again toward the bedroom. I nod, but don’t respond verbally.
“Maybe you can tell her for me.” I feel the intention of his request. He is scared. But I shake my head, forgetting that he’s not in the room. Lois looks at me quizzically.
“Sorry,” I say. “That was meant for him, not you.” She gives me a half-smile, but I can see the tension in her expression.
You know I can’t do that. It has to come from you. He answers without words, a wave of something worse than fear washing over me. The same sense that I had earlier—that he’s not entirely sure whether he cares if he lives or dies anymore. A hopelessness and desperation that he feels deep down inside. I close my eyes. I know these feelings. They are not just his feelings this time. I’ve experienced them myself, accompanied by an intense sense of loneliness.
Clark, listen to me, and please understand this. She loves you. I repeat the sentence again for good measure.
She loves you. Then, I take a deep breath as I continue.
You can get past everything else. You will find yourself again. But you have to give yourself time. You’ve only been back for four days. Please, come back out and talk to her. Tell her some of it, some of how all of it affected you. I promise you, she is stronger than both of us. It will be hard, but she is worth it. Pulling from my own life experiences, I add,
She is worth living for. If you cannot find anything else to live for right now, remember that. She is worth living for. I open my eyes again, but I hold my breath for another moment as I look at her. An errant tear runs down her cheek, and she studies me carefully. I smile weakly at her and then shift my eyes toward the hallway. I can hear him pacing near the door. He keeps stopping at the door and then starting again. And I sense he’s trying to talk himself into coming back out.
Do you want me to stay or go? I ask him. I project an image of her to him, as I see her now. She wipes the tear off her cheek and looks back down at the table. She is waiting here for you.
I hear him let out a long breath at the same time I feel his mind sort of focus. Then, the door knob turns. Her eyes dart up toward the bedroom as she inhales sharply.
“Thank you, Clark. I’m sorry about earlier… I appreciate your help more than I can say, even if I don’t always behave appropriately... You can go. I—” His thoughts cut out abruptly as a stabbing pain erupts in my head. I jump up from the table and rush over to him at superspeed as he collapses in the doorway. I’m just fast enough to stop him from hitting the door jamb as he falls.
I hear Lois approach behind me as I settle him on the ground. He is unconscious, and his heartbeat is irregular and weak. A quick scan reveals no obvious injuries, however, and even the scar on his chest has faded quite a bit. Lois kneels next to him opposite me and brushes his hair off his forehead with a shaky hand.
“Has anything like this happened before?” I ask quickly.
The pain in my head persists, despite his unconscious state, which is also concerning to me. However, Lois shakes her head.
“Okay. Hmmm.”
I carefully lift him, carry him back into the bedroom, and set him gently onto the bed. He doesn’t move. I blink as the pain in my head intensifies.
“Clark, what’s happening?” The fear in her voice is almost palpable.
“I don’t know,” I admit, scanning him for injuries again and again finding nothing wrong. “I can’t see anything wrong. But I—I can feel his—it hurts a lot.” I rub the back of my neck to try to ease my own tension. “He hasn’t complained of headaches?”
Again, she shakes her head. She steps over to the bed and sits next to him as I back up a step. “No,” she repeats, adding, “He’s been doing very well physically, actually. He said he was feeling much stronger this morning too.”
“That’s what I thought,” I say.
Then I recall one incident where Superman helped with a woman who had a severe panic attack and fainted afterwards. Maybe that’s what happened here. I frown and study him again.
“It—it could be related to his anxiety. I’ve seen an extremely severe panic attack cause this before, but only one time…”
My voice trails off as he shifts a bit and moans, his hand reaching up to rub the bridge of his nose. Lois gently touches his shoulder, and he opens his eyes, but then flinches suddenly and groans in pain. I feel it too, but I manage to remain more stoic, swallowing hard and blinking a few times as the wave hits me. It is concentrated at the front of my skull, right between my eyes. Lois glances briefly up at me and then back at him.
“W-what happened?”
He groans again, covering his eyes to block the light.
I step away from the bed, turn off the lights, and then move to shut the curtains. The pain fades ever so slightly, providing a tiny bit of relief.
“You passed out,” Lois explains softly. She raises her hand to caress his cheek, and he leans into her touch, his eyes remaining closed. I blink again and lower my eyes.
“I-I was g-going to come back out t-to the kitchen. I’m sorry, I…I was trying to—”
I can hear the panic rise in his voice again. Lois hears it too, and she bends forward and kisses his forehead lightly.
“Shhh,” she soothes. “It’s okay, Clark. We have all the time in the world. You rest, relax, breathe. We’ll talk more when you’re ready.”
I smile at her words. She knows just what to say to comfort him, and I almost feel like she’s talking to me. God, how I wish I’d had her around two years ago when I’d been struggling with my identity and trying to become Superman. I’d felt so alone after Lana left me, although I realized it was for the best. Lana never really loved me, not all of me. She loved the half of me that she’d grown up with, before I’d told her my secret. She loved the concept of Clark Kent, lonely little orphan boy who’d needed her companionship.
But immediately after the other Lois had left to go back to her world, when I’d truly been all alone for the first time, I’d wanted to just give up on everything.
Superman had saved me—given me purpose and given my life meaning. But my life would have been so much better, so much easier, if I’d had Lois.
I slowly back up out of the bedroom to give them privacy, although I keep an ear out for changes in his heart rate or breathing. My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out to see a text from Jimmy; Perry is asking where we are, and I sigh as I realize we’re late for the morning staff meeting.
I quickly text Jimmy back, deciding that it’s more important for me to stay with them here right now than to rush into work.
“Sorry, Jimmy, I’ve got a headache, and we’re running late. Can you tell Perry we’ll be in as soon as we can? I’d appreciate it.” He responds with a quick message in the affirmative, and I stuff the phone back in my pocket and clean up the table from our half-eaten breakfast. The leftover croissants go in the fridge, and the dishes get rinsed off and into the dishwasher.
As I finish up, I hear rustling from the bedroom, and a moment later, Lois emerges from the hallway, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. She gives me a feeble smile and stops a few feet away. I dry my hands, replace the dishrag on the counter, and then lean with my back against the counter, facing her.
“He’s resting,” she starts, shifting a bit uncomfortably from foot to foot. “He, um, wanted me to thank you again and to apologize for his behavior.”
I shake my head. “He doesn’t need to apologize.”
“I told him that,” she agrees, moving her hands to her hips. “But he said he hates that he sometimes can’t seem to control himself and that you’ve taken the brunt of it. I don’t know what he means, but I assume it’s related to your telepathic connection.”
I nod in confirmation, but then say again, “He still doesn’t need to apologize.”
She laughs weakly and steps over to the counter to pour herself a fresh cup of coffee. She then settles next to me, leaning back against the counter, and sips her coffee silently.
I sense he is asleep now, and the pain in my head subsides. I close my eyes for a moment.
“You feel his pain, don’t you? I mean, his physical pain.”
Her voice trembles a little, and I hear her shift against the counter. I nod.
“Sometimes. Most of the time, he can control our, uh, connection, so I don’t feel it,” I explain. “But when he’s unable to control it, it can be intense.”
“And probably when the pain is most intense is when he’s least likely to be able to control it,” she surmises sympathetically.
“True.”
“And earlier, before he left the room, was he ‘out of control’ then?” she asks.
My jaw clenches as I raise my eyes to meet hers. She’s fishing for information, and she smiles crookedly as she sees that I’m on to her.
“He promised me we’d talk after he’s rested,” she adds. She takes another sip of her coffee. “And I’m a bit scared of what he’s going to tell me.”
“I know, but it will be much better coming from him than coming from me. Trust me.” I straighten up a little and cross my arms over my chest. “I-I’ve felt all of what he’s carrying around with him, and it’s a lot,” I confess, my voice low. “But I also have felt how much he loves you, and I know, without a doubt, that you two will find each other again in all of this messiness. Your love for each other is that strong. And he needs you to love him, Lois. He needs it more than you even know.”
I frown slightly, but quickly hide my expression from her with another weak smile.
She nods. “I feel it when I look at him sometimes,” she says softly. “There’s something haunting him, and if he wasn’t here with me, he—he wouldn’t want to…” She falters as the implication of her words seems to hit her.
I stay silent now. There’s nothing I can say that will help her in this moment. But I take her coffee from her, set it on the counter, and cautiously wrap my arms around her in a warm embrace. She seems to melt into me, clinging to my shirt, and I take several deep breaths.
We stand there for several minutes, unmoving, until finally, she pulls back. Her eyes meet mine. They are not wet with tears, but instead filled with fire and ferocity. She will fight for him—she will fight not to lose him to what is buried inside. I smile at her solemnly and nod, although she hasn’t said anything. And she steps away from me.
“I should probably get to work,” I suggest. I stuff my hands into my pockets. “Jimmy texted me earlier, asking where we were. I’ll, uh, cover for you so you can stay here with him. Do you have anything you were working on that you were planning to get in before deadline today? That follow up on the hotel scandal at Metropolis Hilton, maybe?”
“Yeah, Perry did want that story done today,” she answers, turning away from me and wandering over to the fridge. She opens it and takes out a container of strawberries. “I have my laptop here, so I’ll try to do as much as I can while he’s resting. And I’ll send you what I have. I…I really appreciate your help, Clark.”
“I’m glad to help,” I say sincerely. She smiles at me and nods. “And I’ll call Sharon Anderson and get the ball rolling on that, too,” I add.
“Thank you.”
With another weak smile, I move away from her and spin into the blue, red, and yellow suit.
“I’ll give you a call later, to see how everything is going,” I propose. Her lips purse with worry as she glances back toward the bedroom and then lowers her eyes. “It will all be okay, Lois, you’ll see. Just give him time.”
“Thank you, Clark,” she repeats.
“Anytime.”
I step over to the window, give her one more wave, and launch up into the air toward the Planet. The Sun gives me energy as I fly, and I slow down to give myself more time under its revitalizing rays. I take a moment and fly up higher, just outside of Earth’s atmosphere, where the Sun’s rays are more powerful. And within a few minutes, I feel rejuvenated, as though I’d gotten a full night’s sleep. I turn and speed back to Earth.
Time to get to work.
I find myself hoping that the criminal element of Metropolis and the surrounding region will take a rest so I can get some writing done, phone calls made, and maybe even some ‘supersnooping,’ which I’ve decided is indeed necessary given the situation with Luthor, Intergang, and the kryptonite. I shudder as I land on the roof of the Planet, and I look out over the city. The midmorning hustle and bustle is in full swing, and the city is loud. But, compared with last night, the noises are mostly innocuous; police scanners are silent, no alarms blare, and no gunshots or screaming sting my ears. Maybe my concern about the kryptonite is unfounded…
I shake my head as I spin out of the suit and back into my work clothes. One thing I’ve learned as Superman is that I can usually trust my instincts. No, I should definitely continue to be careful every time I go out.
Luthor has something planned, and last night was some sort of orchestrated attack.
I turn and head downstairs to the newsroom. At least I have a lot to do right now. All of it will keep me distracted from worrying about Lois and Clark. And his scary panic attack earlier. And her uncertainty. And my future here.
I shake my head again to clear my thoughts as I push through the door from the stairwell. Yep, I need this distraction. I wave to Jimmy as he sees me from his desk across the room and greet another of my colleagues as I head down the ramp to my desk.
