When Larry Met... Lex?
A WLMC Special for Tank, Saskia, Kaethel and Pelican.From Part 30 of When Larry Met Charlie:“It’s a mistake to mess with me, Ms Lane,” Luthor said, his voice cold steel, just like the gun he was aiming steadily at her. “Say your last goodbyes.”
Lois stifled a whimper. This was it; he was really going to kill her.
Scenes from her life began to flash before her eyes. Most of all Clark; walking with Clark, flying with him, kissing him... falling in love with him.
It was just
bloody Murphy’s Law, wasn’t it? No sooner had she finally found a man she could trust, a man who clearly thought she was wonderful and who, she could tell, wanted to be with her every bit as much as she wanted to be with him - no sooner had she found the one man she loved - then some creep of an egotistical, arrogant, lower-than-pocket-lint criminal wanted to take it all away from her.
Clark, I love you... Please, help me!And, as her lips formed the word ‘Superman’ once more, Luthor pulled back the safety-catch, and his fingers began to squeeze the trigger.
*********
And now...There was the sound of a gunshot.
And then excruciating pain.
A loud scream, cut off abruptly.
As if in slow motion, Lois felt herself falling, falling...
Then, for an instant, she felt as if she was watching events from some point on her apartment ceiling. She saw herself fall backwards onto the floor. She saw Lex Luthor smile slowly, an extremely satisfied smirk as he replaced the gun in its holster under his coat. And she saw him get to his feet and walk over to the body on the floor.
The body.
Her body.
Bloody and lifeless, a frozen grimace of agony on her face - at least, that part of her face which could still be distinguished.
A large crimson stain was spreading over the pale carpet... that would be a horrible job to get out.
The vision faded, to be replaced by... nothingness.
*********
Help, Superman!Clark frowned, pausing in his patrolling of Hewitt Dock. Was someone calling him?
But who knew who he was? The Daily Planet hadn’t hit the streets yet. His pseudonym wasn’t commonly known. So how could it be...?
He listened intently for a long moment. Nothing.
He shrugged and returned to scanning the streets below. His imagination really was running on overtime tonight.
SUPERMAN!Now there it was again. Clark turned slowly, trying to figure out which direction the call had come from. If, of course, it had been a call. It probably wasn’t, he reassured himself. It was just his imagination. After all, he had just spent the past fifteen minutes or so thinking about his new role - his new
name - and trying to get used to it. It was hardly surprising if his inner voice was trying out the name.
But just in case...
He remained on alert for several more seconds, but there were no more calls. It couldn’t have been anyone calling for him after all, he decided. Shaking his head, as if to clear his brain of weird ideas, he returned to his task.
Too bad no-one needed rescuing right now, he thought idly. This sitting around waiting for something to happen was really getting pretty boring.
*******
Lex Luthor stood over the body of Lois Lane, irritating reporter, for several moments, a feeling of great satisfaction filling him.
It was very rare that he actually did the act of termination himself. He hired minions to do those sort of tedious, routine jobs. But, every so often, it was amusing to prove that he still had his hand in. His aim, he thought with a contented nod, was still as true as ever. All that clay pigeon shooting clearly worked.
So, she was dead. A fitting revenge for the grievous blow she’d dealt him. For
him, the great Lex Luthor, to be woken in the middle of the night by the police - the common police, too; not even the FBI or NIA! - and placed under arrest, driven off in a downmarket squad car, as well, was the greatest of ignominies. Second only to that was the fact that his downfall - his temporary downfall, of course - had been brought about by a reporter.
A woman reporter, at that. And a woman who had rejected the advance he’d condescended to make to her earlier that year, when they’d met at the opening of an art exhibition. He remembered the humiliation of that now. He’d sworn at the time that he would have his revenge on her, and it had been with added delight that he’d tied her up to that pathetic partner of hers in the EPRAD warehouse. The thought of Lois Lane being incinerated had added a piquant sweetness to his dreams that night...
...dreams which had been so rudely interrupted by the police.
Well, he was out of prison now, and with that judge on his payroll all the charges would soon be dismissed as well. Even sooner, if that idiot Bender was able to find someone in the DA’s office willing to see sense. There was that Drake woman - now, she was rather attractive, Luthor thought. Perhaps his own personal intervention might be helpful there? Women - well,
most women, he thought sardonically, glancing down again dismissively at the corpse at his feet - responded to his superior charm and intellect. And, of course, his sophisticated attractiveness.
Yes, Mayson Drake would do very nicely. He'd offer to take her to the Alps for a long weekend, he thought with a slight smile.
Turning sharply on his heel, Lex headed for the bedroom, to exit Lois Lane’s apartment in the same way he’d entered.
*********
Finally, utterly bored, Clark decided that he’d had enough. No-one had been mugged down on Hewitt Dock tonight, and he hadn’t even heard a whisper of criminal activity from anywhere else. Oh well, he thought dispiritedly, maybe Lois had been wrong. Maybe Metropolis didn’t need a superhero after all.
He just hoped that Lois was still awake. It had been foolish of him to have turned down her offer of coffee - or whatever else she’d had in mind - earlier. He’d been too over-eager, in a very adolescent way, to get into the costume again and strut his stuff. Except that no-one had needed him to strut his stuff after all, had they?
Oh well, as long as Lois was awake, he hadn’t entirely wasted the evening after all.
Her living-room window wasn’t open, but that wasn’t a problem. He could...
Wait a minute! Her bedroom window was open!
Was that an invitation? His heart began to beat faster, pounding in his chest.
Was this what he thought it was? Was
that what Lois had meant by inviting him in for ‘coffee’?
A broad grin curving over his face, Clark headed for the bedroom window. But her bedroom was in darkness.
That wasn’t a problem, he decided. She’d probably just fallen asleep waiting for him. He’d fly in anyway, and if she was still asleep he could climb into bed beside her. They had tomorrow morning, after all. Perry wanted them to go in search of Superman, but that was hardly difficult, was it? They could come up with a new story, or an interview, whenever they wanted.
He reached the bed and pulled back the quilt. About to climb in, he realised that the bed was empty.
“Lois?” he murmured softly.
Maybe she’d fallen asleep on the couch, he thought. Although how anyone could do that on one of her torture-chamber sofas was a mystery to him.
He walked softly out into the living-room... and then, by the pale moonlight streaming in through the window, saw a shape on the floor.
He walked closer.
Then a cold hand fastened around his heart. Blood pooled from the victim’s head, and her face was contorted into an expression of agony.
He bent to touch Lois’s hand. It was icy.
She was dead; quite, quite dead.
He collapsed on the floor beside her, an anguished sob bursting from his throat. Tears wracked his body as he pulled her into his arms, as if the heat and life from his own body might give life back to her.
But she remained still and cold in his arms.
Agonising pain gripped him, and he lay frozen, muscles tensed, on the floor, unable to move. So this was what it felt to lose someone you love, he thought. To have failed to save her.
He’d let her down. The only woman he’d ever loved. He deserved to suffer the fires of eternal torment. This wracking pain, the pain of grief, was nothing.
Eyes closing, he held onto Lois and waited for unconsciousness to claim him.
********
Back at his apartment, Lex Luthor opened the chamber of his gun. Five bullets remained.
They had an odd green glow, but he liked that. He found it intriguing. It was one of the reasons why he’d instructed his scientist to make him some bullets, as well as a few other things, out of that very odd stone which had come into the lab a few weeks earlier.
Glancing behind him, Lex once again admired the small carving he’d had made out of the remainder of the green rock. It was a replica of his many Man of the Year awards, of which he was justifiably proud. In the dim light of his private living-room, the carving glowed eerily.
He really must find out, one of these days, just what the rock was, and if there was any more of it. Who knew - maybe it could be useful.
~ The End ~
