Well... now that I'm done with my story for
NaNoWriMo and I've had time to edit it and polish it some, it's finally time to post.
This is an "elseworld" story. What I did is I switched Clark and Lex around - mind you, the good guy is still the good guy and Clark is definitely still Superman. I just made Lex a small time reporter (and Lois' partner... poor girl!) and made Clark a very rich man. Hence the title, "Reversal of Fortune". Clever, no? Lois is still Lois, because that's the way we like her.
I've removed some of the nonsense that was in the original story (like the extra super long description of the house at the beginning... it was very well written, but completely useles!) so if you were to add up all the words when I'm done posting this, it might not come to 50,000 -- but the original version most certainly does. I just went through it and took out parts that would bore you guys to tears. *lol*
I hope you enjoy it!
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Reversal of Fortuneby LaraMoon
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Part 1The man took a quick look around the spot where he had landed. He stood in a field sparsely covered with trees. He was relieved to see that no one had noticed his arrival. They wouldn't have understood how he was able to do that and they quite probably would have run away screaming if they had noticed his arrival. He definitely did not want to draw that much attention to himself! It was best that no one see him and no one knew he was here.
He walked the short distance that separated him from the little paved road which led to the house he had set his sights upon. There was no one around there either. This, however, was odd. He had expected to see someone here. He was sure he'd gotten the location right. But perhaps he'd gotten the time wrong, he wondered? No matter, he thought. He was here now and he'd make the most of this trip; look around, make sure that this place was all that he had hoped.
After a few minutes of inspecting the surroundings, taking notes and making observations, he knew that this was it. This was the place. He had been searching for quite some time now. He'd found other places elsewhere that were similar, but none were as perfect as this one was. It had everything the man hoped for. Every detail was just right and it offered possibilities that none of the places he'd visited before had. Perhaps this time, things would work out the way he hoped they would.
"It's just perfect!" he said, to no one in particular.
He rubbed his hands together and began planning his next move.
~.~.~.~
The creepy old mansion up on Eagle View Drive now had a new owner. It had been empty and up for sale for ages; no one in their right mind wanted to live there... well, not until a few weeks ago.
No matter who you asked, everyone it seemed had a chilling tale to tell about the house and why it had been empty for so long. Everyone had a different version and the story usually ended with accounts of ghosts or spirits having been seen roaming around the property. As a result, most people didn't dare venture anywhere near there. Even the squirrels kept away. But the fact of the matter was that it was just an old house. It had been uninhabited for the last twenty years and was pretty much falling apart now, but that was basically all there was to tell about the mansion. There wasn't anything there that was even remotely chilling. Except maybe the occasional gust of wind that came through a crack in the wall...
The mansion stood on top of the small hill, at the end of Eagle View Drive. A tall wrought-iron fence surrounded the property, which consisted of the mansion itself and several acres of land. Had the place been in better shape, it might have been the envy of everyone living in the vicinity. But as it was, it stuck out as a sore thumb and served only as the subject of scary stories that parents told their children on Halloween.
When the residents of this nice little suburban town, on the outskirts of Metropolis, had learned that the mansion would once more be inhabited, their curiosity had been piqued. The new owner had to be an outsider or they would never have been interested in the house in the first place. The local people would not have been caught dead anywhere near the place, let alone going inside even for just a short tour of the mansion. So obviously, whoever had bought it hadn't ever heard of these stories. Come to think of it, considering the state of the property, they probably hadn't seen the place before purchasing it, either!
The real-estate agent had quickly earned himself quite a reputation for selling the mansion. Selling a place that had been unwanted and empty for twenty years was nothing short of a miracle. However, the truth was that the house had pretty much sold itself. When he'd gotten a call that Friday afternoon from a woman asking if he would kindly show her around that property, he had first thought it was a bad joke. But it wasn't and the caller was dead serious. So, shaking away the thoughts of ghosts and spirits, the agent had agreed to show her around. Barely ten minutes into the visit, the woman had made an offer on the mansion. An offer which happened to be well over the listing for the property.
And so the mansion on Eagle View Drive had been sold. Roughly a week later, the neighbors had noticed that the new owner had moved in. It seemed to have happened all of the sudden... one day the house was run down and empty and the next, the post-man had seen a man moving furniture inside the place and he had been astonished to realize just how many repairs seemed to have been made in such a short amount of time.
For several days, everyone had tried to find out who had moved in the mansion. It was the talk of the town. Women gossiped about it at the supermarket. Men talked about it around the water cooler at the office. Kids played guessing games in the schoolyard. Everybody wanted to know! They'd seen a fairly attractive woman in her early twenties go in and out of the house. She barely ever left the grounds, though and had never been seen in town. They knew from the real-estate agent that she was the owner's personal assistant. That is all anyone knew at first.
And then, one day, the post-man had needed to deliver a letter there. The first letter addressed to the new owner. This is how they all found out who had bought the property. Suddenly everything had made sense to everyone...
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Clark Kent was a novelist. Extremely prolific and successful, this made him a very rich novelist. Even before he had ever started writing, he already had a considerable fortune. According to Forbes Magazine, he was currently the third wealthiest man in the world. He was also a very strange man. Refusing to have contact with others, he'd been living as a recluse for years. Other than that, no one seemed to know much about him. Depending who you asked, he was either a middle-aged man who'd lost his wife and had then turned away from the world, or he was horribly deformed and hiding away from others for fear of being ridiculed. What they did know for certain is that he wrote the most amazing adventure novels. He could make you believe that you were there in a way no other writer could. The only other widely known fact about this man was that he gave several millions of dollars every year to all manners of charities. Perhaps, as the tabloids kept insinuating, his generosity was a way of finding absolution for something he'd done.
There were rumors about the young woman who served as his personal assistant as well. They knew her name, but they had as much information on her as they had on him. Although she wasn't very old she had worked for him - or at the very least been with him - for several years. There was much speculation regarding the relationship that they shared. Some thought she was his wife, perhaps his daughter. It didn't seem likely that he kept her there against her will, for she always sounded cheerful on the phone and people who had had dealings with her always said that she looked friendly, even happy. Perhaps he was just paying her very, very well.
When word spread that Clark Kent was the new owner of the mansion on Eagle View Drive, most people had just shrugged. He was rich and eccentric, wasn't he? And somehow, in a very weird sort of way, it just made perfect sense that he would want to live there. The man and the mansion were a perfect fit: they both had a lot of mystery surrounding them, were the subject of constant gossip and neither were especially welcoming to visitors.
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Lois Lane had been working for the Metropolis Star for almost a year now. Fresh out of College, she'd barged right into Preston Carpenter's office and had proceeded to explain to the publisher why not hiring her would be the worst mistake he could ever make. She had been hired on the spot, just as she imagined she would. It was common knowledge that Preston Carpenter liked women who knew precisely what they wanted out of life and could articulate it with assurance and certainty. Naturally, it also helped that Lois had a nice long pair of legs, which the editor had most definitely noticed.
The Star had actually been her second choice... Lois had first tried her little stunt on Perry White, at the Daily Planet. Unfortunately, the man had seemed as unimpressed by her physical attributes as he had been by her rather original way to land a job there. He'd simply raised an eyebrow at her and then had launched into some completely off-topic story about Elvis Presley and Colonel Parker. Lois had looked at the man as if he had suddenly started speaking Mandarin and, excusing herself, had left his office, abandoning her dream of ever working at the Daily Planet. It might have been the top newspaper in Metropolis, but their chief editor was obviously deranged and she figured that unless she learned to do the Jailhouse Rock, she had little or no chance of ever working there.
As far as she could remember, being a reporter was what Lois had always dreamt of. It was the only thing she had ever seen herself as doing. She was bright and inquisitive and from a very early age, she'd spent all her free time investigating all sorts of mysteries for the small newspaper she had created. From her base of operations, in the basement of her parent's home, Lois did everything herself: she wrote the stories, took the pictures, printed and even distributed the weekly publication. Most of the stories weren't nearly as interesting as she would have liked them to be - disappearing signposts or families moving in and out of the neighborhood - but she prided herself on the quality of her stories. None of them were fiction; they weren't hearsay either. Every last word was the truth. Painstakingly verified and researched, all of her facts would easily have stood up in court.
So, even though her plans of working in the city's number one newspaper hadn't worked out exactly as she had hoped, working at the Star was still a wonderful opportunity. She was learning the ropes there and she would move up eventually, she knew. Besides, she needed the money and after spending so long at Metropolis University learning everything there was to learn about how to be a reporter, Lois Lane had been more than ready to spring into action and be one. A real one.
Since she did not have any concrete experience on the field yet, Lois had immediately been assigned to work with a more seasoned reporter. When the idea had first been presented to her, it had sounded like something perfectly acceptable. She'd viewed this as a learning experience; she would have a mentor, someone to show her how it was done. Besides, Lois had every confidence that she would be able to fly solo soon enough. But this partnership had turned out to be neither a pleasant thing, nor anything she could learn from. Worse yet, it was starting to look as though she would be stuck with Lex Luthor for a very long time. It had been almost full year already and it seemed as though her editor had no intention of splitting the team apart any time soon.
The thought of being stuck with a partner for the rest of her career made her cringe. Even worse, the thought of being stuck with Lex Luthor for a partner for the rest of her career made her want to quit.
As much as she tried, Lois just couldn't shake the idea that Lex Luthor wasn't who he appeared to be. He would sometimes disappear for long periods of time, without any explanations, leaving her to cover for him and basically do all the legwork herself. He would always show up again right in time to write the article and share the byline, though. Lois didn't know where he went or what he did while he was gone, but her gut feeling was that the man was up to no good. There was just something about him that seemed off in a way. He was a good-looking guy and God knows he could have charmed the pants off just about anyone - he probably did, too! He wasn't stupid either, which as far as reporters went made him a fairly decent one although she guessed he was pretty much on his decline by now. But there was something about this man that just didn't click. Of course, it didn't help that pretty much everything the man did rubbed her the wrong way, but it wasn't just about that or even about her for that matter. Unfortunately, no matter how strong her gut feeling was about him, Lois couldn't prove anything... In any event, she'd stopped looking for skeletons in Lex Luthor's closet very early on, when she had understood that anything she did to threaten his reputation would reflect badly on herself and possibly tarnish her own reputation. She would keep working with him as long as she had too, but not a second more.
When she had heard that Clark Kent had recently moved right outside of Metropolis, Lois had seen this an opportunity to advance in her career. She was going to land herself a one on one interview with this man. She knew that no one had ever been able to achieve this, so it would prove to be as much a challenge as it would be an achievement. People barely knew anything about him... Clark Kent's novels did not come with a picture and a few lines from his biography printed on their back covers. He didn't do tours or book-signings and he most definitely did not go on talk shows to discuss his novels. He probably didn't even answer his phone or his own mail... he had a personal assistant for these things, anyway. Lois was just about convinced that he hadn't even spoken to another soul outside his assistant for years. While she knew that trying to get an exclusive interview with this man was setting the bar pretty high for herself, Lois also knew that the rewards that could come from it would be worth the effort. She'd definitely get out of that partnership with Luthor and earn herself a promotion. It might even be worth a Pulitzer Prize!
No matter how long it was going to take to get there and no matter what the cost in time and effort, Lois Lane was going to do everything in her power to meet Clark Kent. Her future depended on it and she was not going to let such an opportunity for recognition just slip through her fingers.
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The first time she'd called to try and set up an interview, Lois had played innocent on purpose. She knew full well that there was no way she'd get to meet the man so easily! This was just a way of finding out what his assistant was made of and being able to gage the amount of effort necessary before the woman finally caved. Obviously, it would take a lot more than just a few phone calls and Lois was prepared to go the distance on this, but she needed to first plan her "attack" meticulously so that she'd achieve the desired results.
Lois had politely introduced herself and had asked whether or not it would be possible to meet with the novelist. She'd tried to be a sweet as she could manage. Sometimes, she knew, a smile could go a long way. And while was fully aware that she wasn't going to get anywhere near the man this quickly, there was no reason not to try and get some valuable information out of the exchange anyway.
"I'm sorry, Miss Lane," the woman on the other end had told her kindly, "Mr. Kent does not give interviews."
"He doesn't?" Lois had asked, feigning ignorance. "As in never? To absolutely anyone?"
"That's correct. He never gives interviews. I'm very sorry..."
"I see... Well, would it perhaps be possible to get a copy of his biography so that we may at least add these few details to our article?"
Of course, there was no article. Not yet anyway. There would definitely be one in the future, though, so it wasn't exactly a lie...
"I can send you a list of all Mr. Kent's published novels, but that is as much information as I am at liberty to give out," the woman said, without even the simplest hint of regret in her voice. "If there's a fax number I can send it to, I'd be more than happy to do so."
Lois gave her the number and kindly thanked the woman before hanging up. It wasn't much, for sure, but this list of novels was the first - the only - real piece of information for her file on Clark Kent. Besides, once she got the list she would be able to pick a title that looked interesting and swing by the library to borrow a copy of it. Lois didn't exactly have a very active social life - work was her life - so she'd have plenty of time to read at least one of his novels. This was an important part of her research, after all. How could one interview a writer about his work if they'd never read a single line of it? And the last thing Lois was ever going to do was go in to interview someone without the proper preparation.
Preparing for this interview might be only half the battle, it was still going to take an awful lot of work. For one thing, Lois knew as much about Clark Kent as she knew about making a soufflé au fromage... Considering she barely knew how to make a grilled-cheese sandwich, this placed her in the "even more clueless than average" category. She knew of people who had read his novels, but she wasn't one of them. She would remedy this, though. She'd also have to spend some time searching through microfilms and public records if she was going to be able to find out anything about Clark Kent. Judging as though most people really had no idea who the man was other than the fact that he wrote books, she knew that the information wasn't going to come out and jump right in her face... she would have to dig deep to get it and probably spend several week-ends pouring over newspaper clippings and all manners of publicly available records.
No matter.... Lois knew it would all be worth the effort in the end.
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Late that evening, Lois sat in bed with a copy of "Across the Dunes" which she had gotten from the library. So much for looking at the list and picking out the ones that had inspiring titles... this was the only one that wasn't already on loan. Lois hoped that didn't mean it was the worst! Then again, it was one of the earliest ones, so it probably just meant that everyone - except her! - had already read it.
It told the story of a man's journey - both emotional and literal - as he crossed the Sahara Desert; from Khartoum in the Sudan, all the way to the delta of the Nile River, in Egypt. Definitely not something Lois would normally have read about, but it sounded interesting enough. Hopefully there was more to it than just the recounting of a motorcycle ride from one location to the other, with some stops along the way. There had to be or this novel would never have made it to the best-seller's list, no matter who the author was. At least, Lois was pretty sure that people didn't just go out and buy strictly any book that had the man's name printed in bold across the front page. Did they?
She opened up the first page and noticed there was a dedication. "For Lana," it said. Lois scratched her head for a second... she'd heard that name before. Ah yes, she'd read it on the fax that she'd gotten from the author's assistant. The note that came attached to it was signed Lana Lang. Lois wondered if this meant that she was more to him than just his assistant. For all she knew, she could be his wife maybe even his daughter. Lois grabbed her notepad and jotted this information down. It wasn't much of a clue, but something she could ask about when she spoke to Ms. Lang, next time. Because there was going to be a next time, of course.
Lois turned to the next page and started to read.
~excerpt from "Across The Dunes"~As I prepare to leave Khartoum, I am overcome by a familiar feeling of loss. It's the same old feeling that always reaches in and tightens around my heart; darkness and despair once again flooding through my veins.
Sudan has been my home for the last months; a home that I am now forced to leave behind. Knowing that I shall never return almost makes it too hard for me to go. But I must and so I do.
I gather the few things I own and stuff them in the battered backpack that I've been carrying with me around the world these last few years. The feel of the worn canvas material under my fingers brings back memories of all the places this bag and I have seen. Its many quickly repaired tears remind me of all the adventures we've had; its wear marks, of all the times I thought I'd finally found a place to settle down for good.
I too bear wear marks, but you would not see them on my skin... they run deep in my heart and soul. Every single home I've had to flee; every single person I've had to leave behind, friends and loved ones alike; every heart wrenching goodbye has left scars which I fear will never fully heal.
The realization that I do not - and probably never will - fit in anywhere brings with it the same old pain that I still have not learned to live with. A pain I hope, foolishly perhaps, that I will never experience again every time I put down my backpack and start calling a new town "home". You would think by now I would have learned my lesson and stopped being so optimistic, but I cannot - I will not - let myself become jaded. Should that ever happen, should I ever lose faith, then this is when I shall settle down to die. Where there is no hope left, there can be no life.
I pick up my notebook, the one where I've written down accounts of all the places I've seen over the years. It's so old, it's a wonder it still holds in one piece. I open it to a random page. I like doing this; it contains so many fascinating tales which I have heard from all the people I've met. They are like precious gems that I've been entrusted with. I read them often so that I may never forget.
A picture falls out of the notebook and lands onto the floor. A pretty young girl in a school uniform looks up from it with sad emerald eyes. On the picture, she's twelve. It's the most recent image I have of her although she's fourteen now. Tears rush to my eyes as I pick the photograph up from the dusty carpet. I've left her behind in a boarding school in London. My life is too complicated for her... She would not be able to survive the emotional hardships, let alone the constant moving around. After all this poor soul has had to endure in her young life, she needs to have some sort of stability. In London, she has people around to take care of her when she needs them; friends to be with, to confide in. People whom she can, in time, start building a life and a future with. At first I told myself that this was for the best. But the truth, as much as I hate to admit it, is that I hate myself for leaving her there. I hate myself for all the hurt I've ever caused her and pray that some day - in another lifetime, I suppose - she may forgive my foolishness.
I shake my head, attempting to empty it of the painful thoughts that have started to creep up in there. I need to finish packing and leave. Ali will be here soon; he's agreed to take me across the White Nile to Omdurman. It's not very far from here, but I don't fancy getting there on my own anyway. From Omdurman I'll be headed north, to Egypt. I plan to follow the Nile all the way to its delta and from there, I'm not sure yet. I have several days of traveling before I reach it and besides, I could end up staying somewhere else along the way. I never make any concrete plans anymore... Plans have a nasty tendency of going awry on me.
*~*
I've bought a motorcycle in Omdurman and am now on my way north to Ed Damer. I plan to ride most of the way through the dunes of the Sahara rather than using the main roads. It would have been easier to travel through the desert on a camel I suppose, but if I run into trouble... well, I can repair a motorbike. Camels, I'm not sure I would know how to fix. Actually, I could have chosen to travel any number of ways, but I don't especially want to be noticed right now.
So, I've traded in what little money I had in my pockets for this motorcycle. It's not in the best shape it's ever been, but it'll do for now. Oh, it would have been easy for me to get some more funds wired over here, but I'd rather no one be able to pick up my trail for as long as I can manage.
Now here I am, under the scorching desert sun, soaring through the dunes. On my way to Ed Damer, 300 km away from where I started. I should be able to get there before nightfall, it's really not that far, but I'm not traveling especially fast. I have no one waiting for me; I have nothing but time. Spending time on the road is quite welcome, anyway. It helps clear my head; forget about these things which I do not care to remember on days like today.
I've affixed a compass to the bike's handle bar. I still need to stop for it to be able to show me precisely what direction I'm headed in, but for the most part it helps me navigate well enough so that I don't get lost. Everywhere you look, it all seems the same: sandy dunes as far as the eye can see, merging in with the bluest of skies at the horizon. It makes me wonder how the Bedouins managed to cross the desert and still find their way to where they were going. The mildest of sand storms; the slightest gust of wind and the whole scenery changes. It's impossible to tell where you are or how far you've traveled.
~end of excerpt~When she felt her eyes would no longer stay opened by themselves, Lois put the book aside. She had read nearly a hundred pages already. Truth be told, as tired as she was, she was a little sad to have to put the book away now. The story was truly captivating so far. She'd heard people commenting on the fact that any time they'd read one of these novels, they had always gotten the impression that they were living the story along with the hero. And every time, she'd thought to herself that these people clearly needed a life! But reading this book, Lois found that they were barely exaggerating in their comments. You could almost see the dunes of sand and feel the burning sun at the same time the main character did. And that was nothing compared to the emotion you felt as you rode with him on his motorcycle, shared his feelings and thoughts, then eventually met with local people and learned of their life and customs. This was definitely a great way to escape reality, she thought.
Lois was definitely looking forward to picking up this novel again and finding out the rest of the story! She was seriously considering getting a few more of these at the bookstore as well. If they were all as well written as this one, then she really wanted to read them and not solely for the purpose of preparing herself in the prospect of interviewing the author, either.
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To Be Continued
