For the first time Lois regretted not keeping a gun in her apartment. She’d become more comfortable with guns during her time in Iraq and had even practiced at a target range in preparation for a previous story about crime and women defending themselves.
The weight of a gun would have been comforting. Instead, all the had was the dubious comfort of a malfunctioning pepper spray canister and a stun gun, which she hurriedly pulled from the bottom of her purse.
It was stupid going after the intruder like this; her safest bet would be to head for the elevator, inform security on the ground floor, and allow the police to deal with the matter.
Yet part of her was put at easy by the state of her apartment. It was hard to be afraid of someone who mopped the floor, polished the furniture and left the apartment frankly cleaner than Lois had seen it in a long time. She rarely had time to clean when she was on a story, and although she tried to clean before trips, it was never up to the standards her mother would have liked.
Leaving the door open behind her was part of her exit strategy. Lois’s mind raced as she thought about possible exits should she have to run-stairwells to the left and the right, the elevators. She’d traded keys with her intern, so she’d have a place to run to.
Lois carefully set her purse to the floor by the doorway. With any luck she wouldn’t need it, and it would only slow her down if she had to run.
She glanced in the kitchenette and noticed that the intruder had mopped and polished her black refrigerator until it shined.
They’d even washed the huge picture window, making its view of the city even more amazing than it had been before. Lois had chosen the apartment in part because of its spectacular views of the city. By night the lights of the city spread out like a sea of jewels.
Whoever it was hadn’t managed to put everything back the way she’d had it, but they’d placed things as best they could.
Lois slipped into her bedroom and the sounds of the shower were louder from here. She scanned the darkened recesses of her bedroom before entering it; she’d hate to open the door to an empty bathroom to find herself attacked from behind.
The room was lit only by the light coming from the crack beneath the bathroom door, and by the lights coming from the expansive picture window. Everything seemed to be in order, from the queen sized bed to the shadowed nightstands to the closet with the mirrored doors.
Someone could be hiding inside the closet, but she’d hear the door sliding open in plenty of time to get out of the way.
Before she could get up the nerve to push the door open, the sounds of the shower cut off.
She kicked at the door, which flew inward with a crash.
Gaping at the naked torso in front of her, it took a moment for Lois to realize who her intruder was.
The man who’d hidden in her trunk was now coming out of her bathroom with his hands held high, an amused expression on his face and a towel which looked ready to slip off his hips at any moment.
Before she could open her mouth to say anything he held one finger to his lips and stepped backward into the bathroom. He gestured, and Lois allowed herself a glance downward…at the pile of electronics dumped haphazardly in her sink.
Lois recognized a few of them, having visited the Spy store on several occasions before undercover investigations. Some she didn’t recognize at all, but from the sleek look of them she assumed they had to be cutting edge microphones.
She’d wondered if the government had bothered to bug her apartment, but this seemed like overkill.
The man reached back into the shower and turned it back on. He stepped out of the bathroom, closing the door behind him. The apartment was once again wreathed in darkness, lit only by the light coming from under the crack in door.
He took a step toward her and Lois took a step back.
“Give me one reason I shouldn’t call the police right now,” Lois hissed.
“They’ve tapped your phone?” He shrugged. “From the number of bugs I found when I was cleaning up the place, I’m guessing you are in almost as much trouble as I am.”
“I’m not the fugitive running around breaking into people’s cars and apartments,” Lois said in a low voice. “Trying to pass counterfeit money...and whatever crimes you’ve been involved with.”
“What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?”
“You’re standing in my apartment in a towel and I didn’t let you in. That makes you look pretty guilty to me.”
“I’ve got a cleaners’ bill for you too,” he said.
“Don’t get cute!” Lois said, gesturing toward him with her stun gun. “You deserved everything you got, especially after you busted the lock on my rental car!”
He shrugged. “Well, I figured you owed me a shower at least.”
“Only a crazed stalker takes a shower in strange people’s houses without their permission!” Lois found her voice rising and when he glanced back at the bathroom door she lowered it again. “I’m going to call the police and let the courts decide what to do with you.”
She should just open the bathroom door and speak into one of the microphones. Of course, they’d then find his wallet and would listen to whatever he had to say.
His being here at all was going to look very suspicious.
From his expression, she could see that he knew she was wavering. He spoke quietly, almost blandly. “What do you think they are going to do to your sister when they realize the truth?”
Lois froze. “What do you know about my sister?”
“I know where she and the others are being held. I know why they are being held.”
If Lois could find things out from a secondary source, she could report on them. She’d have to be able to prove that the information came from somewhere else in a court of law, or she might be facing a long time in jail.
“How do you know those things?”
Lois’s mind raced. His identification papers were the same as Lucy’s. That meant he was a member of the cult or terrorist group or whatever it was.
“I was on the plane,” he said. “I wasn’t on the passengers’ list.”
“You dropped out of the plane when it was landing,” Lois said. “Why would you do something so dangerous if it wasn’t for some nefarious purpose?”
He looked startled. “I’m a reporter. I stowed away in the cargo compartment.”
“That’s a crime too. Penalties are up to a year in prison and a $100,000 fine.”
Lois had done a story on the stowaway back in 2003. He’d only gotten probation and a smaller fine, but if this man was really a reporter he should have known that.
He looked embarrassed. “We got off on the wrong foot. I should introduce myself. My name is Clark-“
“Kent.” Lois rolled her eyes. “Riiight.”
If he thought she was falling for that one, he was dumber than he looked.
“Why don’t I get dressed, and we can talk about this?”
“I’m pretty comfortable the way things are,” Lois said. She allowed her glance to dip downward and was pleased to see him flush a little. “At least this way I know you aren’t carrying a gun.”
“My clothes are on the bed,” he said. “You can check them if you’d like.”
She glanced at the clothing on the bed, her body tensing. This would be a good time for him to rush her, while she was distracted.
He did nothing of the sort. Instead, his posture remained relaxed.
“Fine,” she said after a long moment. She reached down and grabbed his pants, which seemed to be new and barely worn. She shook them a little and could feel no unusual weights.
She threw the pants at him and said, “Put those on.”
He grabbed the pants and pushed his way back into the bathroom. A moment later he was back. Lois allowed herself a moment to be distracted by his chest before she realized he was gesturing for his shirt.
“Spoilsport,” she murmured under her breath.
She could have sworn she saw him flushing again, although he couldn’t possibly have heard her. She threw the shirt at him, and then watched as he slipped it on and slowly buttoned it up.
He stepped forward, and Lois stepped back. He was a large man and her apartment was small. He made it seem even smaller by his very sense of presence.
Stepping to the side of her bed, he reached for her clock radio. Unplugging it, he marched back toward the bathroom and stepped inside. A moment later she heard the sound of the shower stopping and the sound of music from the radio starting up.
He’d selected an easy listening station, which was playing something soothing by Journey.
He stepped out and looked apologetic. “I’m not really comfortable with all of the new stuff.”
Lois backed up through the doorway to her bedroom and headed for the couch. When he sat down on a chair, she returned to the hallway to close the door. Although she was still worried, it was hard to be afraid of someone who had mopped her floors and polished all her trophies.
When she returned she said, “Do you always clean up when you break into people’s houses?”
“I grew up in foster care,” he said. “And some of them were pretty strict about cleaning up. Now I tend to clean when I’m nervous.” He stared down at his hands.
Why wasn’t he trying to pretend to be Superman? Wasn’t hat the whole point of having a wallet filled with Metropolis references, of naming himself Clark Kent?
“Are you sure you got all of the bugs?”
He nodded shortly.
“There were cameras in that sink” Lois said. If the Feds were already on their way she needed to call. It would look highly suspicious that she was meeting with the cult leader in her own apartment.
“If they’d seen me, they’d already have been here,” he said. “I’m pretty good at finding these things.”
“They don’t teach the basics of finding bugs in journalism school,” Lois said. “Who are you really?”
“I did some freelance work in Nigeria for a while, working as a bodyguard. I picked up a few skills that have come in pretty handy over the years.”
“So your parents just had a skewed sense of humor,” Lois said.
She’d pretend to go along with it for the moment, but she knew he was lying. Any reporter named Clark Kent would have been commented on extensively, and she’d have heard about him long before now. The community of journalists was a relatively small and insular one, and her experiences with being named Lois Lane showed that small oddities were of big interest on slow news days.
Overcoming the prejudice of her name had required taking risks; Lois had been one of as few as nine embedded reporters while the rest of the reporting staff huddled in hotels and attempted to report the war by telephone. Despite that, people still mentioned her name.
No reporter could have been named Clark Kent without getting at least some comment.
He shrugged. “I’m sure they didn’t think it was strange at the time.”
“So what kind of cult have you people gotten my sister involved in?” Lois asked.
She expected him o protest that it was a religion; most cultists were adamant about that. Instead he looked at her for a moment, and then shook his head.
“Is that what they are calling it?” he asked. “I suppose it makes sense in a way. A plane load of people land and start telling impossible stories, so you have to come up with some sort of reasonable explanation.”
“What’s your explanation, then?”
“What do you know about parallel worlds?” he leaned forward expectantly.
“I’ve seen Sliders,” she said. At his look of non-comprehension she said “the television show? Jerry O’Connell, funny portals in the air…”
He shook his head. “What about in reality?”
“It’s science fiction claptrap,” she said. “String theory suggests there might be ten or eleven dimensions, but entire alternate worlds? Besides, some people say string theory isn’t even science. It can’t be tested.”
“What if I could prove to you that your sister’s airplane came from an alternate reality?” He leaned forward and said, “Would you help me then?”
“Short of proving that you can fly, I don’t see how you could.” Lois paused. “You can’t, can you?”
He hesitated for a long moment then shook his head. “I’m no Superman,” he said. “I’m just here to help the people on that plane get back to where they belong.”
“So how are you going to prove to me that you are from an alternate world?”
“I’m not. I’m going to tell you where to look. I’ll leave, and I’ll let you prove it to yourself. Then we’ll get together and figure out what we can do about all of this.”
“So that’s it. You’re just going to give me some information and then leave?”
“I didn’t think you’d let me sleep on the couch,” he said, “Although I’m told I’m a very good houseguest. I don’t snore, and I clean up after myself.”
Lois glanced around at the spotless apartment involuntarily. He gave her a look that was probably supposed to make her feel guilty, but Lois Lane had been approached by the best.
There was no way a strange man was going to spend the night in her apartment, much less one that was unofficially a terrorist or worse.
“No,” she said slowly.
When he looked up at her with those eyes, she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. She’d take the information from him, she’d look into it, and she’d go from there.
At worst he was a terrorist planning the downfall of civilization. At the best he was a harmless lunatic being hunted down for his beliefs.
“Tell me what you’ve got.” she said finally.
She’d prove to both him and herself that this was all a big delusion on his part, and then maybe they could get around to the real work of convincing her sister to renounce the cult, or whatever it was.
For Lucy, Lois would follow even a crazy man. The fact that he was good looking just made it all a little easier.
