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Part 3/?
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"Lucas Peregrine could fly?" There are little spots in my vision and I'm glad I'm all ready sitting down. Is it possible? Could someone else from Krypton have been here before me?
Lois' eyes gleam at the realization that she might have an entirely new angle in her quest for the ultimate Superman story. "Fly?" she asks, motioning with her hand like she's about to zoom up from the table. "How high off the ground was he?"
Doc blinks, looking surprised that we're both so accepting of his theory. "My grandfather said he rose from the lake and flew to the front door of the cabin."
Lois nods. "That's pretty definitive. I mean, it couldn't have been a trick of the light or anything like that. What else do you know about Lucas? Did he have a family? Where did he say he came from?"
"Lucas said he had a family, but that they were far away. On the census his birthplace is listed as Kentucky. I've looked through the censuses for Kentucky in the years before he showed up here but I don't see him listed. Then again, some of those records are incomplete or have been lost over the years."
"Kentucky? Or 'KY'?" Lois wonders aloud.
"All places of birth are listed as initials," Doc answers.
"So maybe he said 'Kentucky' but actually meant the 'KY' to be an abbreviation for Krypton?" Lois speculates.
Doc smiles and nods his approval. "The census also lists both his parent's places of birth as 'KY'."
"What about his family?" I ask.
"He said he had a wife and a son. To my knowledge he never even told anyone their names. My grandfather had the impression that they were still alive, but living somewhere else."
"But they never lived here with him?" I press, eager for any scrap of information.
"No, he always lived alone. I've never found any Peregrines in the Kentucky censuses either."
"When did he show up in this area?" Lois asks.
"Around 1857. Both he and my great-grandfather settled in this area around the same time. Like I said, he helped my great-grandfather build this house in 1858."
"How old was he when he came here?" I ask.
"I would guess he was in his mid-forties at the time. I have pictures of him, would you like to see them?"
"Yes!" we say in unison, both of us pushing back from the table, all thoughts of dinner forgotten.
Doc smiles and beckons for us to follow him into the sitting room. He hunts among the boxes stacked next to the desk at the far end before producing an old leather-bound album. He turns the first few pages of the album and then lays it open in front of us. "That's him. That's Lucas Peregrine. This picture was taken around 1865."
The sepia-toned photograph shows a man with dark wavy hair, a little long in the fashion of the times. His eyes are pale and look almost haunted as he gazes at something just to the right of the camera. His mouth is thinned in a frown that makes it look as though he had never learned how to smile. He has a solid build, the kind that comes from years of hard work. A thick dark beard covers only his chin. His sideburns and cheeks are clean-shaven. Lucas Lake is in the background; it doesn’t appear to have changed much in the intervening years.
"He doesn't really look like Superman, does he?" Lois comments.
I shake my head, a deep disappointment settling across me. I don't know what I was hoping for, but she's right. He looks nothing like me - or Jor-El. Still, the thought that this man may have beat me to Earth from Krypton by hundred years is something I never expected. I wish it wasn't growing dark outside; I want to search out his history even more than Doc does.
"Didn't he ever smile?" Lois asks.
Doc nods. "Of course he did. My grandfather said he had a wonderful sense of humor. People just didn't smile for pictures in those days." He takes the album back and turns a few more pages. "There," he points. "There he is again."
This time the picture is of a small group in front of Doc's house. Lucas is standing on the top step, his shoulder leaning against the pillar of the porch. A young boy stands on the railing next to him, his arm thrown across Lucas' shoulder. Both Lucas and the boy are out of focus, their faces a little blurred but obviously smiling. Their figures definitely stand out against the rest of the people in the picture; everyone else is staring sourly at the camera.
"The boy is my grandfather. Just as the picture was taken his older brother dropped his pants and mooned them. Only Lucas and my grandfather laughed."
"Do you have any other pictures of him?" I ask.
"A few, but he's much older in them. They were taken in 1915, a couple of months before he died. I'll see if I can find them tonight and show them to you tomorrow."
"How did he die?" Lois asks.
"Old age, I guess. He had to be at least in his nineties when he went. My grandfather said he was sharp as a tack right up to the end."
"What is it you hope to find in his grave?" I ask, even though I feel more than a little morbidly curious to see his skeleton myself.
"If we can find him, I'd like to send a sample of his bones to a lab and see if they're any different. Maybe, if he is like Superman, his bones will be denser or something. I just want… proof, I guess. Marty says I'm dabbling in revisionist history here and that I'm going to be a joke amongst my colleagues."
"Why would you be a joke? If you find proof, I mean," Lois says. "History changes all the time."
"Ah, that's true, my dear. But changing commonly held ideas about the past isn't easy. It's painstaking, especially if you're going to be legitimate about it. Most people would prefer to keep alive the glossed over fairy tale they learned in school. It gets messy when you look at it from the other side."
"History is written by the victors," I add.
"And usually the victors have something to hide. There are people who use this process of rewriting history to suit their own agendas. It's a slippery slope." Doc spreads his hands in a gesture of futility.
"But this isn't going to alter anybody's world view!" Lois exclaims.
Speak for yourself, Lois, I think. It would forever alter my world view. Don’t get me wrong - I have my parents. And I have Lois, Jimmy, Perry and other friends like Josh. But there’s always been an empty space inside me. A nagging sense that I’m it. There will never be anyone else who can understand on a primal level what it's like to be me. Even if we’re separated by a century, I feel a tug of camaraderie for this man. Curiosity, sorrow, and compassion have all combined into a sort of longing so intense it’s rapidly becoming an ache. Who was he really? What was he doing here?
"I doubt it would change the world," Doc says. "But I still want to know."
I turn back to the first picture. What was he looking at when this was taken? His eyes are at odds with his stern expression. He looks so sad. Was he thinking of his home? His family? I feel my throat beginning to close off with emotion. I excuse myself and stand up, leaving the room as quickly as I can without arousing Lois’ suspicions. I head outside, to the front porch, where the second picture was taken. I lean against the same pillar Lucas did, craving the connection with him. I hear the screen door open and then close. Lois comes up quietly beside me and leans against the rail, her elbows resting on the spot where Doc's grandfather stood for the picture.
"Clark? Is something wrong?" she asks softly.
"Just… wondering if Doc is right about Lucas."
"I don't know. That would really be something, wouldn't it?"
"Are you glad you came now?"
She lets out a small laugh and nudges me with her shoulder. "Like you have to ask!"
"But I am asking." My longing for a connection with Lucas is somewhat assuaged by my connection with Lois. I’m so glad she’s here, even if I can’t think how to tell her why that is.
"Okay," she allows. "I'm glad I came."
"Even if it means having to hang out with a bunch of freaks?"
"You said Josh was your friend,” she chides in a light tone.
"He is, but the rest of them seem just a little off-center, don't they?" I still feel hollow inside but the banter with Lois helps to fill the emptiness. Actually, just being around her seems to fills that loneliness inside me. Is that the attraction? It sounds so cliched to say, but I don't know how else to explain it.
She laughs at my assessment. "I don't know who's worse, Emily or Marty."
"What's wrong with Emily?" I tease.
“She’s okay, if you like that type.”
“What type is that?”
“Blonde. Nail-biter. Vindictive.”
“Careful Lois, I might start thinking you’re jealous.”
“Jealous? You wish! Since when are you the ideal male?”
"You have no idea."
"Don't I?" She raises her eyebrow and smirks at me.
Oh, the answers I could give to that. "No, I don't think you do."
Her eyes take on a flirtatious twinkle. "Suppose you tell me."
"Nah." I shake my head. "You're a prize-winning journalist, I'm sure you'll figure it out." God help me if she ever remembers this conversation when she finally pieces together who Superman is. It's not that I don't think about telling her, I'm just afraid of her reaction after I do. I can't decide between dropping a hint so large she can't help but realize the truth or just straight-up telling her.
"So… do you like her?"
"Not in the same way that I like you."
"Oh," she says. Her mouth curves into a small, pleased smile.
There’s something about her smile and my own inner turmoil that makes me long for the time when my life was simpler. "It's hot, Lois. Let's go for a swim."
"A swim? Where?"
"In the lake."
"But… I didn't pack a swimsuit."
"So?"
"So I'm not about to go skinny-dipping with you!"
I think about teasing her that Emily would, but decide against it. "Who said anything about skinny-dipping? We'll just strip down to our underwear. C'mon, Lois, it's going to be too dark to see anything anyway." Too dark for her. I'll just have to not look.
She bites her lower lip while she considers. "It is hot…" she allows. I give her an encouraging smile and she shakes her head with a laugh. "Okay, fine. But you have to swear to me that you won't look."
"Only if you promise not to look, too."
Her eyes sweep across my shoulders and she smiles. "Let's go before I change my mind."
We go through the house to the back porch. There are a couple of flashlights sitting on a table outside the back door. Lois grabs one and goes first, lighting the way for us both as we follow the trail to the fishing pier. The pier juts out about fifteen feet into the lake at a point where the shore slopes steeply. There are rails along the side since the drop to the water below is at least six feet.
I pull off my shoes and socks, tucking my glasses into one of my shoes. The moon is only three-quarters full. Its light is dim but not that faint, if she looks hard enough. Part of me wonders if I'm doing this just so she can see me without glasses while my hair is slicked back. It would feel so good to unburden myself to her tonight. All I need is the right opening and I can confess everything. You think I look like Superman? Well, funnily enough…
Lois appears to hesitate just for a moment and then she takes her shoes off. I pull off my jeans and t-shirt and fold them, stacking them on top of my shoes before tucking the bundle just under the boards of the pier. I walk to the end and climb over the railing. I glance back in time to see Lois tugging her shirt over her head. I grin and jump into the water. The water is cool but not cold. It's the perfect antidote to the humidity still heavy in the evening air. Treading water, I look up to see Lois peering over the railing above me.
"Come on in, the water's fine!"
"Are there any rocks?"
"Nope."
"How deep is it?"
"I'm not touching the bottom here."
She only hesitates for a moment. Then she climbs over the railing and leaps with a squeal. After a couple of seconds she surfaces and laughs with delight. We swim back to shore, scrambling up the steep bank and across the pier to jump in again. I'm wading back into shallower water when she launches herself at me from behind, pulling me off balance. I let myself fall back in the water, taking her with me. She swims away when I splash at her in retaliation. I start back again for the shore, it's not until I'm about to jump in again that I realize I don't hear her swimming anymore.
"Lois?" I can hear her breathing, so I know she hasn't gone under.
"Over here," she calls out in a lazy voice. "Can you see me?"
I scan the water and pick her out easily. She's floating on her back about thirty feet off-shore. Her eyes are fixed on the starry sky and wide with wonder. I dive in and swim out to join her. I roll over, tipping my head back in the water and look up at the stars. Even though I'm used to a clear night sky I'm still in awe at the sight.
"Look at them all," Lois says, her voice full of amazement. "I never realized there were so many stars. Does it look like this in Kansas?"
“Yes,” I answer.
She sighs. “I don’t think I’ve ever envied you more.”
I don’t answer her; just smile to myself. Her hand brushes my shoulder setting off a pleasant flutter in my stomach.
"Do you think Lucas Peregrine is related to Superman?"
"I don't know," I say slowly. How should I reveal this to her? "Superman said he came here as a baby. Lucas was here a hundred years earlier. I don't see how they could be related."
"Oh," Lois says quietly. "Was he really from Krypton or was Grandpa just senile?"
I don’t answer, overwhelmed by questions of my own. Is it really possible that I'm not the first one from Krypton to come here? How did he get here? Where was the family Lucas said he had - here or on Krypton? What happened to them? If there are descendants of Lucas here, do they have powers? Or were his progeny killed when Krypton exploded?
"It would be nice, wouldn't it, if Superman had someone?" Lois asks, her voice distant and thoughtful.
I should tell her that he *does* have someone. Or, he's trying, at any rate. "He has you," I say hesitantly.
Lois moves so that she's treading water instead of floating. "Well, sure, he has you too."
"That's not what I meant." I join her in treading water. I can feel the undertow as she pedals her legs. It mirrors the invisible undertow that she's exerted over me since day one.
"Not what you… oh… no, it's really not like that, Clark."
"Hello?" Marty calls from the shore. "Lois? Clark? Is that you two?"
"Yes," Lois calls back. "Busted," she giggles under her breath.
On shore I hear Marty snicker quietly before he shouts, "Don't mind me! I was just checking."
"We should probably go back now," Lois says.
"Okay." I want to beg her to stay for just a few more minutes, but we can’t have this conversation with Marty within earshot.
We both swim to shore. Marty has gone into the tent. His silhouette looms large against the canvas from the lamp's light. We dress quickly, our clothes sticking to our wet skin and underwear.
"Next time we should just skinny-dip," Lois laughs. "This didn't do much good, did it?"
"Not really," I agree. My mind wanders, thinking about tomorrow night and the possibility of skinny-dipping with Lois. Would being naked help or hurt my chances of having her hear me out? She couldn’t really storm off if she was worried that I might see her, could she?
Lois turns on the flashlight and starts up the trail. She waves the beam over the tent as we pass. "Good night, Marty!" she calls.
"Good night!" he yells back.
A few yards away from the house she stops and shines the flashlight on me. "So what’s our plan for tomorrow?”
I raise my hand to block the light. Caught by surprise, and already feeling off-kilter, I can’t think of a thing to say.
“Clark? Did you hear me?” She drops the light's beam to my chest instead of my eyes.
“Sorry, yes, I heard you. I just… I don’t know. I think I’d rather help out with the dig than go into town and look for the missing silver.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Lois says enthusiastically.
Lois' obsession with Superman usually falls under one of three categories - flattering, amusing or just a little unsettling. Tonight it's plain old irritating. “I should have known you’d never pass up the opportunity for a new angle on Superman.”
“What the hell?" She shines the light in my face again. "Tell me that’s not why you’re more interested in that hole in the ground over finding someone's tarnished old tea service!”
“That’s… different," I say lamely. There's no way I'm telling her anything now.
“It’s no different. Just because you’re such good friends with Superman doesn’t mean you have dibs on any story about him!”
“Lois, that’s not what I meant. It’s not about the story…”
“Oh really? I beg to differ. I saw you looking at those pictures. I’ve never seen you thinking so hard. I’d bet you all ready have half the story written.”
She turns away before I can reply and quickly covers the remaining distance to the house. The screen door slams and bounces behind her. Lois wouldn’t appreciate the comparison to Emily, but she’s acting exactly like her.
I look back towards the dig site and then close my eyes. I suddenly feel very alone. I wish Marty hadn't interrupted us and yet… And yet I'm grateful that he did. Nothing is more frightening to behold than Lois when she's righteously indignant. It's better, isn't it, that she's angry over an imagined slight than something as serious as deceiving her?
I open my eyes. I can just make out the light from the tent through the trees. I think about Lucas, buried somewhere nearby. If he was from Krypton he took his secret to the grave. It would appear he was close to Doc's grandfather but Lucas never confided in him.
<"He always lived alone.">
Was he lonely? He didn't talk about his family. Were they in his thoughts or was he escaping them by coming here? I think about the two pictures. One so sad and solemn and the other a moment of spontaneous laughter.
<"He had a wonderful sense of humor.">
But who was he? Was he happy here? Why was he here?
<"It would be nice, wouldn't it, if Superman had someone?">
Ah, Lois, it would be nice. But how do I tell you?
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