37
I wake gradually, painfully. Darkness enshrouds the room; daylight has not yet come. My body aches, although the acute pain of earlier seems to have passed. How long have I been out? Carefully, testing my body’s reaction, I turn my head and glance at the clock on the nightstand. 5:30 a.m. Ugh.
I shift in the bed, pushing myself up and swinging my legs off the edge. I still wear the suit, minus the boots, and the spandex feels itchy against my vulnerable skin. Aching and stiff, but not incapacitated, I stand up, keeping one hand on the bed to steady myself, and I then inch slowly toward the end of the bed. Moonlight filters in through the windows to the balcony, providing enough illumination for me to navigate the room. I manage to stumble to the dresser, where I pick out a pair of black workout pants and a dark gray T-shirt, and I then head into the bathroom to change. Several irritating minutes later, I manage to get the suit off—undoing the hidden zipper in the back is somehow much too challenging when I’m sore and stiff and without my superpowers—and I pull on the clean clothes and toss the suit in the clothes hamper. My reflection in the mirror gives me pause, and I take a few minutes to run a comb through my tousled hair and wash my face.
Reflexively, I attempt to focus my heat vision into the mirror to remove the stubble from my chin; nothing happens, of course, and I grimace in frustration as I pull out a razor from the medicine cabinet. I stare at it for a moment. Nope. I’ve never actually even used a razor before, and I don’t feel like learning right now. Dejectedly, I resign myself to being less than clean-shaven, and I place the razor back in the medicine cabinet to collect more dust.
I slowly make my way out toward the living room area, but I stop in the doorway. Lois sleeps peacefully on the couch, curled up with a throw pillow under a light blanket. Since the other Clark returned, I’ve deliberately avoided allowing myself to study her beauty, but my willpower seems to have disappeared with my superpowers, and I now can’t seem to tear my eyes away from her. Her loose dark hair falls over her face, and her lips are gently parted. I remember the feel of the kiss we shared only a few days ago, her soft lips pressing into mine and her hands threading through my hair. I shake my head to push away the memory, but my thoughts betray me.
So beautiful, Lois. Immediately, my eyes dart around the rest of the living space. Two half-full mugs sit on the coffee table, but there is no sign of Clark. I don’t feel his presence either. Hopefully, he didn’t hear my thoughts about his fiancée.
Boy, this is getting complicated.
I force myself to push away all thoughts of the gorgeous beauty sleeping on my couch, and I quietly pad into the kitchen, frowning as the muscles in my legs complain. Coffee actually doesn’t sound appetizing right now, but I feel mildly nauseous, with a sort of uncomfortable emptiness in my stomach—is this hunger? Maybe a piece of toast and some ginger tea would help. I busy myself with preparing the tea and toast, as quietly as I can to avoid waking her. Every move is punctuated by stiff, sore muscles, and I find myself glancing out the window, waiting for the Sun to rise. If I take a nice walk out in the sunlight, maybe my powers will return faster.
And then I can figure out what I’m going to do about Luthor and his so-called test of this modified kryptonite. God, I never want to experience that agony again. I shudder as I rest my hands on the counter and wait for the tea to steep.
“Hey, you.”
I jump at the sound of her voice right behind me, and I twist around abruptly. I hadn’t heard or felt her approach, and this lack of awareness is disconcerting. She smiles sheepishly at me.
Adorable. No, I can’t think that. My shoulders tense as I remind myself again that my feelings for her need to be kept at bay, even hidden from my thoughts.
“Sorry to startle you,” she apologizes.
She steps up close to me, and I hold my breath as she reaches out and places a gentle hand on my forehead.
“You were feverish overnight,” she explains, her eyes studying mine. She pulls her hand away, but my skin still tingles where she had touched me. “But you seem fine now. How do you feel?”
She moves slightly away from me and takes a clean coffee cup out of the cupboard.
“Tired. Sore. But nothing like last night. All my powers are gone still,” I admit, scooting away from her slightly to give her room to pour a fresh cup of coffee. My toast pops up from the toaster, and the tea should be finished steeping. “And I’m hungry, I-I think, which is something I’ve never experienced before.”
She laughs weakly and takes a sip of her coffee.
“I sent Clark home to get some rest himself, but I thought you’d still be sleeping for a while yet. I remember when Clark was exposed to that modified kryptonite. It was rough.” Her voice trembles, and she swallows hard before continuing. “I think he was only exposed for a few seconds. At first, it seemed like he recovered quickly, but then, just like you experienced, he suddenly started feeling worse and worse. I think it was a good ten or twelve hours before he could even stand up. Several more after that before he was functional. His powers took another day to return.”
My stomach twists in knots. I take a small bite of the plain toast and then strain the tea leaves and pour my cup of tea. Lifting the kettle almost takes more strength than I have, but I manage.
“I really hope I recover more quickly than that,” I say quietly. I set the kettle back down and take a sip. The sweetness of the ginger immediately calms my nausea. “Luthor is probably already on his way back to New York with the kryptonite. I need to get rid of it, and we need to figure out how to put him away. He’s bad news.”
“Luthor, right. Clark and I talked about that yesterday, too. It makes sense, you know, that Luthor would want to get rid of Superman now.” My gaze meets hers, and she frowns as she seems to be recalling our discussions over the last few days. “It’s still hard to imagine that Luthor is Intergang now. But it does make sense.”
“There’s more though,” I add. My legs suddenly feel weak, and I move to sit at the table. She joins me. “I tried to call you yesterday, but your phone kept going to voicemail.”
She grimaces. “Yeah, sorry about that. Clark and I…we were talking. For a long time.”
Her expression darkens for a moment. I don’t need to pry.
“It’s okay. And that’s good. That you guys talked, that is.” I raise my eyes to meet hers with a reassuring half-smile. “Um, I decided that some—what did you call it—‘super snooping’ was in order, and I followed Luthor to where he was staying at the Lexor Hotel downtown. He had a stash of kryptonite in the safe in the room. He also had a ring made with small kryptonite stones. And…” I hesitate. I don’t want her to feel any guilt over what happened. But she needs to know, because I’m definitely going to need her help to get this situation solved. I continue. “He spoke with an associate, whom he called ‘Nigel.’ They discussed their plans for a ‘test’ for Superman, scheduled for last night. The bombs at the high school were decoys. Nigel was there in the gymnasium, wearing a ring similar to the one Luthor had, studded with kryptonite. But I was exposed outside the gym, after I’d removed all the bombs. It’s like they had a backup plan in case I didn’t get close enough to this Nigel guy.”
Lois’s face pales, and she sets her coffee mug down loudly on the table. “But, Clark, they had the whole area blocked off. No one would have been allowed access to the area outside the gymnasium, except police and the bomb squad…” Her voice trails off.
She’s right, I remember. The whole street was blocked off. I close my eyes for a moment as I consider the implications of that little tidbit of information. Intergang has infiltrated the police department? It makes sense. But it’s terrifying.
I think hard, picturing the scene below me as I’d flown back after tossing the bombs out into space. I’d been focused on the gymnasium, and I’d landed next to Police Chief Adams. Four other officers had been nearby. No one else was close enough. Again, I try to put myself in that moment in time—to picture who was around me and what happened immediately before the kryptonite had stopped me in my tracks. Somehow, even without my powers, my nearly photographic memory is intact, and I carefully examine the scene in my mind. I’d taken a step toward the gymnasium. An odd silence had surrounded me. And then…there. To my left. A small clicking sound, like the latch of a box opening. In my mind, I concentrate on the edges of my peripheral vision. Details that I hadn’t noticed in the moment. An officer—one of the four who had been nearby when I landed, but not one who had stayed behind to help me back to my feet—opened a small box, and a sickly green glow lit up his features, milliseconds before my eyes screwed shut in pain.
I see his face clearly now, and I pull myself back to the present as my eyes fly open.
Lois watches me curiously, her gaze troubled. “What is it?”
“Bill Henderson,” I gasp, shaking my head in disbelief. “Bill Henderson was the officer with the kryptonite.”
38
“No, no, Clark, that’s not possible. Not Bill. You know him. I know him. He wouldn’t—”
She stops herself and stands up abruptly, crossing her arms over her chest. And she immediately starts pacing the room while continuing to mutter to herself.
I understand her confusion. In fact, I feel the same way. But I know what I saw, and I trust my own memory enough to know that it’s true. He was there. It was him. He opened that box with the kryptonite. Now, why he’d done it—that’s what we need to figure out.
I raise my eyes up. Lois’s shoulders are hunched, her back to me, and I can still hear her mumbling to herself, though I cannot make out her words.
“Lois, come back and sit, please. And let’s talk about this.”
She spins around to face me, and I almost recoil. Her eyes bore into me accusingly.
“Talk about what?” she blurts out angrily. “You just alleged that Bill Henderson—who, by the way, is one of the best cops I know—that he is involved with Intergang and responsible for hurting you last night. I don’t even—I can’t—Clark, he’s a friend of mine!” She throws her hands up in the air and turns away from me again.
I swallow hard and push myself to my feet. My head is throbbing now, and my back aches, but I ignore the discomfort, stand up straight, and step over toward her.
“Lois.” My voice sounds raspy, my throat dry. I shake my head as my mind races to come up with the right words to say to her. “He’s a good man, Lois. I know that. So that’s why—that’s why we need to—to t-talk to him and get to the bottom of this. Maybe…maybe they blackmailed him, or something?”
She stills, her whole body tense, as she listens to my words. When she turns back around to face me, my stomach drops. Tears stream down her cheeks.
No, please don’t cry, Lois. “He is a good man. He’s a good cop. He would never—never do something like that, Clark. You—you don’t know him like I do. He would never,” she argues. Her jaw set in anger, she spins around and heads toward the door, grabbing her coat and purse on the way.
My head swims, and I grab a hold of the wall next to me to steady myself.
No, Lois, don’t go, please. She is leaving because she is angry with me. Not for any other reason. She’s angry with me for making such an accusation against someone she knows, someone she trusts—at least, someone she trusts a lot more than she apparently trusts me.
“P-please don’t leave, Lois. Please, let’s just talk about this for a minute. Please,” I beg. I try to move across the room toward her, but my knees wobble, and I nearly fall as she hurries up the stairs to the front door.
“No, Clark. I need to go now. I’m glad you’re up and okay. But please don’t call me. I need time to think.”
And then, she turns and leaves. And I slide to the floor with my back against the wall as my legs give out, the little energy I had spent.
39
I stuff my hands deeper into my pockets, protecting myself against the cold air of the sunny, but chilly morning. My steps are labored and slow, but it feels good to be outside, and I hold my head up high to soak up the Sun’s powerful radiation. I feel its healing power, and each step I take becomes physically easier. However, the Sun does nothing to heal my broken spirit.
One hour ago, she stormed out of my apartment.
One hour ago, everything I’d built in the last month had been shattered.
One hour ago…
I make my way slowly around the edge of Centennial Park, walking the path I’d normally be running. I avoid the shady forested trail in favor of a sunnier route, and I find myself at the edge of the pond. Two ducks float along together, peacefully. One reaches back and preens its feathers, and the other dives down into the water briefly, returning to the surface a second later. I sit at a nearby bench and allow myself to rest for a while in the growing morning light.
But it is dangerous to allow my thoughts to wander.
I hear her voice echo in my head—the anger, the resentment, the disbelief. I wish I could take back my words, although they’d been necessary and truthful; had I known how she was going to react, I would have held back the information or…something. I rub my eyes with one hand and then straighten my glasses.
The truth is, I’m as confused by my memory as she was, just like I’d told her. Since coming to this world, I’d had many interactions with Bill Henderson, both as Clark and as Superman, and he’s always been a straight arrow, no-nonsense kind of guy. He’s helped me and Lois out many times, and he’s never once shown anything but respect for Superman and the work I do. I didn’t have a Bill Henderson in my universe, but Lois has known the man for years, and I trust her judgment of his character as much as I trust my own memory.
Which is why none of this makes sense. And why we should have talked more about it.
And why it hurts so much that she didn’t even take the time to consider what I’d said.
For the first time since coming here to this Earth, I almost wish I could go back home. Anything would be better than knowing that she was crying because of me.
I sigh and shift on the bench to get more comfortable. In front of me, the ducks continue to glide on top of the water. I blink repeatedly as the sound of the water moving around the ducks seems amplified momentarily. Are my powers coming back already?
I close my eyes and concentrate on the forest nearby. And my spirits rise just a little.
A squirrel chitters in a tree at the edge of the pond, and a robin pecks the ground in search of seeds. Several leaves fall to the ground. A runner breathes heavily, her heart racing, as she picks up her pace and continues out of the forested path and along the sidewalk on the side of the pond opposite me. I can hear it all.
I open my eyes and watch the runner, smiling as I distinguish tiny details that shouldn’t be visible. I shift my gaze up toward the Sun momentarily and then stand up. Nothing hurts. I very cautiously raise myself off the ground, only an inch, and a wave of relief washes over me.
Good. Good. I set my feet back on the ground and take a final look at the ducks in the pond before turning and heading back toward my apartment.
A few minutes later, I round the corner, and my apartment comes into view. As does Lois’s Jeep.
I stop in my tracks for a moment as I scan ahead. Lois is not in the Jeep; Clark is. And he looks worried. My stomach drops, and I clench my jaw. He’s probably here on her behalf. I’m probably about to get kicked out of this world. Literally.
I take a deep breath and jog down the street. He sees me in the rearview mirror and waves. He looks…relieved to see me? He climbs out of the car, pulling on a baseball cap as he glances around to ensure he isn’t seen, and then trots ahead of me up the steps.
“You look like you’re feeling much better,” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets as I pull my keys out to unlock the door.
“Yes, thank goodness. The sunlight helped a lot,” I admit.
“I bet. Lois must still be sleeping, huh? I knocked, but no one answered,” he says.
My hand freezes on the door handle.
“Wh-what? You mean she’s not—she never went home…?”
His eyes widen, an expression of confusion and fear crossing his face, and he reaches forward and pushes the door open ahead of me.
As soon as we pass through the door, he turns to me.
“What do you mean? Where is she?” His voice trembles, and he closes the door quickly and scans the empty, cold room.
I flip on the light switch next to the front door and remove my glasses, rubbing the bridge of my nose. I feel his anxiety and distress grow as he stops hiding his thoughts from me.
“She left about—” I pause and glance at the clock on the wall— “two hours ago,” I reply, trying to avoid picturing the scene in my mind. However, I’m not completely successful, and he isn’t shy about prying; I back away, lower my head, and turn toward the kitchen as he sees my memory of her outburst, her tears, her hasty retreat.
“What did you do to her?” Anger comes off him in waves, and he grabs my shoulder. “Why was she so upset?”
I stop and close my eyes as I shake my head. “I-I didn’t do anything. I j-just—she got upset when I—” I turn back toward him, words failing me.
Here, just see… I show him everything, replaying our whole conversation, my recollection of the night before, my realization that it was Bill Henderson who had the kryptonite, and then her reaction. And I feel his anger fade, replaced by an intense dread.
He staggers over to the couch and sits heavily.
“Bill Henderson? I-I can’t believe it. I—there must be a reason—like you said.” He rubs the back of his neck nervously. “But Lois, I know why she got so upset. Bill, he helped her when her sister Lucy almost…committed suicide. He saved Lucy’s life and helped her turn her life back around. Lois, she respects him a lot. He’s a good man, a good cop. There has to be a reason—like you said. I—”
He shakes his head and stands back up, crossing his arms over his chest. “She probably went to find him and confront him. We…we have to go now. I don’t like her off by herself with all this going on—with Luthor and Intergang and—and I have no powers and can’t protect her if something…” His voice trails off, but I hear his heart racing and his breathing become shallow and fast.
I will protect her, I promise him silently.
I will always protect her. His eyes meet mine. He is close to panicking.
“We have to go find her. She probably went to Bill’s house.” I don’t know why we’ve switched to telepathic communication, but it seems to calm him somewhat, and I nod.
Let me go get the suit on. We can’t be seen together otherwise, I reply.
“Please hurry,” he says aloud. He begins pacing the room, his tension growing.
“Yeah, of course,” I respond. “One second.”
And one second later, I’m back in the living room, clad in the spandex suit, which no longer itches. He narrows his eyes at me, and I hear his thoughts.
“Your powers are back already? It took mine much longer.” I give him a halfhearted nod and toss him a pair of my glasses. He shakes his head and chuckles weakly. “I do not miss having to wear these,” he admits, slipping the glasses on.
“I’m not at anywhere near full strength yet,” I confess quietly. He starts toward the door, and I follow. “So, uh, maybe we can just drive there, if that’s okay…”
“Of course.” Together, we exit the apartment, and he jogs down the stairs and pulls the keys for the Jeep out of his pocket. He radiates anxiety, and I notice his pulse racing and his hands shaking.
Are you okay to drive? I could—“No, I’m fine. I’m j-just…” He hesitates as he grasps the handle to the driver’s side door, gazing at me from over the roof of the vehicle. “I’m worried about her. And I…I don’t like being powerless when she’s in trouble.” His voice is low, and he drops his eyes.
I open the front passenger’s side door with a small nod, acknowledging his admission, and then I climb into the car. He follows, and soon, we are on the road, heading north. He navigates the car out of the city and into a small suburb of Metropolis, where the streets are lined with crisp, landscaped lawns and all the houses are new and brightly painted. He turns into a quiet cul-de-sac and pulls up to the curb behind a police cruiser.
I’m trying, but I cannot detect her heartbeat here or anywhere nearby.
I glance up to the house—Henderson’s house, I presume—and my chest constricts. The door is wide open, and inside, the house is wrecked; the furniture is upturned, windows are broken, a laptop lies smashed on the kitchen floor, and clothes are strewn around the bedrooms. There are traces of blood on the carpet in the living room.
As soon as he stops, I jump out of the Jeep and fly inside, scanning the house as I do for any clues.
Oh, God. I reach down behind the overturned couch. Her purse. She was here.
I hear Clark behind me, his breathing ragged as he jogs in after me, and I sense his growing panic again. His cheeks are flushed from the effort of jogging, reminding me that although he’s been acting strong, he’s still very much recovering.
“What is it?” I turn toward him, carefully controlling my thoughts and expression. But he sees right through me. And his eyes drift toward the purse in my hand. I feel the moment he loses control. He begins to hyperventilate, and he falls to his knees.
“No, no, no. God, no.” I grasp his shoulders and pull him back up to his feet, but he fights against me as rage and despair overtake him.
“How could you let them take her?! You said you would protect her!” He pushes me away with enough power that I actually move back a step, and he then lunges at me. I easily move out of his way and grab him from behind before I launch us both up out of the house, into the sky, and back toward the city.
Clark, we’ll find her. We’ll find her. Please trust me. I’m not calm, but I force myself to sound confident.
Despite our gaining altitude rapidly, he continues to struggle against me, his heartbeat erratic and fast.
“Let me go! I have to find her. I can’t lose her. You don’t understand!” “I do understand,” I tell him out loud, my voice firm but low. “I do understand. And I promise you, we will find her. I will not let you lose her. I will not lose her.”
He stills slightly in my grip. Maybe he senses my own desperation and the sincerity of my words. Or maybe he just realizes how stupid it is to insist that I let him go when we are hundreds of feet up in the air and he still lacks the ability to fly. We hover over downtown Metropolis, and I breathe deeply to steady myself.
Please let me focus so I can find her. I sense that he understands, and he remains quiet while I extend my limited superhearing out over the city. The effort causes me to lose a bit of altitude, but my eyes fly open as I find her heartbeat—rapid but regular.
She’s at the Lexor, I tell him silently.
He twists his head to the left, toward the massive skyscrapers lining the busy downtown streets, and I scan with my vision ahead of us as we speed toward the towering structure off Fifth Street and Main, the huge capital letter L sitting atop the hotel shining in the Wednesday morning sunlight.
My stomach drops as I see her, along with a battered and bloody Bill Henderson, on the roof of the hotel, accompanied by that Nigel character. Lois and Bill are tied back-to-back and are precariously balanced on the ledge of the roof. Lois spits a fiery retort back to something Nigel says, and Bill hisses at her to keep quiet, blood dripping down his face from a nasty cut above his left eye. Undeterred, Nigel points a gun at Lois and steps closer to them. Bill recoils slightly, but his foot slips.
No, no, no. God, why am I not faster? I complain to myself as I attempt to increase my speed more.
I feel Clark tense as he reads my thoughts, his earlier panic growing again, but I can’t be concerned with him right now, and I block him from my mind.
Ahead of me, the scene seems to slow down as I accelerate more. I head straight toward the ground in front of the building, carefully set Clark down without slowing, and launch up toward the roof, the cement cracking beneath my feet. My eyes remain trained on the duo now in free fall about 20 stories up. Lois’s scream pierces my ears, fueling my determination. I reach out and grasp both of them as relief washes over me, and everything around us speeds back up to normal time.
I close my eyes for a millisecond as I consider how I was almost not fast enough.
But then I hear her voice, and I shove those thoughts out of my head as we float toward the ground.
“Superman, I—thank you, Superman,” she says breathlessly, her head slumping sideways a bit onto my shoulder.
Bill Henderson stays silent, but I can hear and feel his heart pounding in his chest. Below us, Clark frets, his hands wringing nervously as he waits for us to reach the ground.
My feet land lightly on the cement. Although the exertion has sapped my energy quite a bit, I hold myself upright and steady Lois and Bill as they regain their footing. I then reach between them and snap the bonds holding them together. Bill staggers forward, and I grasp him not so carefully by the collar of his coat to keep him from falling. He mutters a weak “Thank you” and moves slightly away from me as I release him. Lois, on the other hand, is more stable on her feet, and she turns toward her Clark, who is shaking visibly.
“Lois.” His voice is hoarse, and she collapses into him with a shudder as his arms envelop her. One of his hands threads into her wind-whipped hair, and he buries his head into her neck.
I turn away from them as they embrace, and I shift my gaze up toward the roof. Nigel still stands up on top of the building; he hasn’t bothered trying to disappear. I feel anger building up in my chest, but I control myself, steel my nerves, and float unhurriedly upwards, giving myself an extra few precious seconds to soak up more sunlight as I scan the roof and Nigel’s coat pockets for any sign of more kryptonite. He wears the same black ring studded with the small kryptonite stones, which is probably why he seems confident and unperturbed. My jaw clenches, but I again force myself to remain calm. I land on the roof a good distance away, where I’m sure the kryptonite cannot affect me, and I glare at him as I cross my arms over my chest, still barely holding my anger in check.
A strong gust of wind blows Nigel’s hat off his head, sending it flying down the hundreds of feet to the ground below. Nigel still seems perfectly composed, but he skirts carefully away from the edge of the roof, his eyes studying me with disdain.
“I’m quite surprised to see you here, Superman,” he admits in his distinct heavy British accent. “You see, I was told that I’d have at least twenty-four hours after our little incident last night to, shall we say, clean up the mess.” His eyes leave me for just a moment as he glances down over the side of the building. “It is unfortunate though that by saving that goodie-two-shoes cop, you’ve doomed his family, Superman.”
I narrow my eyes as Nigel pulls a small black device out of his pocket. I recognize the device as the same type of trigger mechanism I’d seen the suspects have at the Empire State Building. Another bomb. Dammit. I’m sure this one is not a decoy.
Quick thinking is not my best attribute when I’m not at 100%, but I manage to zap his hand with a brief burst of heat vision. He inhales sharply as the trigger device flies from his hand, and using a carefully controlled bit of super breath, I float the device down and across the roof, away from him.
“I don’t think so, Nigel,” I say, my voice now dangerously low, betraying the rage I feel. I shake my head as I realize not all the rage is mine; some is still a remnant from Clark’s feelings directed at me earlier.
Nigel seems to sense my fury, and a flash of fear briefly mars his otherwise passive features. He steps backwards, toward the edge of the roof, and his foot hits the ledge. He recovers quickly, however, his fingers playing with the deadly black ring on his right hand. And he tests me by moving back in my direction, just one stride. I don’t move, knowing I’m still far enough away.
“Turn yourself in now, and I’m sure you can work out a deal with the police if you give up Luthor,” I suggest, watching him warily.
“That shows how little you understand, Superman.” He takes another step toward me, and this time I do move away, floating up and back several feet. He laughs. “Turning on Luthor is suicide. Getting caught while on Luthor’s payroll is also suicide. I might as well just jump now.”
He turns back toward the ledge and steps right up to peer over the side of the building. My eyes follow his momentarily. Bill Henderson now sits on the curb, his head resting in his hands, and three police cars pull up at the scene. Lois and Clark still hold each other. Lois’s head is buried in Clark’s chest, and his eyes are screwed shut tightly. I look back toward Nigel, who studies me curiously.
“What would you do, Superman, if I jumped? How would you explain not being able to stop me from falling to my death? They would blame you, you know. Say you were taking justice into your own hands. I dare say, they would start to fear you. Maybe that would be worth it. To see your perfect image tarnished.”
I know my eyes betray me in this instance as I swallow anxiously.
Watch out, the alien has laser eyes. Memories of the fear and distrust hidden in the eyes of even my closest colleagues from back on my own world temporarily rattle me, and Nigel again laughs. He places one hand on the ledge and leans over, as though tempting me to move closer. I don’t budge. He raises an eyebrow at me and hikes one leg up onto the ledge.
“You are too good to just let me die, even if it means you would die trying to save me,” he surmises, a sneer growing on his face.
“Don’t do it, Nigel. I’ll get you into protective custody, and we’ll take down Luthor,” I say quickly, trying to keep a steady tone. I sense his heart rate increase, and I realize he’s seriously considering jumping rather than surrendering. I chill runs through me to think that Luthor’s influence extends that deep into the system.
“I already told you that will not work,” he responds angrily, the first real show of emotion from him since I’ve been up here. My whole body tenses as he finishes his climb up onto the ledge, his hand grasping a flagpole to steady himself, and I instinctively reach out toward him, although I don’t get any closer. “Living with Luthor after you is worse than not living. I know, because it was my job to exterminate those who betrayed him.” His face is red, and his eyes are wide and unnerving.
My mind races as he smirks wickedly at me, lifting one leg and shifting his balance to lean off over the edge of the roof.
No, please, don’t do this. God, what do I do? I can’t just let him die.
However, I don’t have time to devise any sort of strategy. He laughs a twisted, maniacal laugh, which seems oddly uncharacteristic of him, even in the short time that I’ve known him, and then winks at me, releases his hand from the flagpole, and begins to fall.
