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Part 3
*******
I have been sitting in my armchair, impatiently watching the second hand on the wall clock tick by the time for three full minutes, waiting for Mr. Kent to start to speak. He has been pacing, looking for all the world as though he is trying to come up with the most plausible excuse he can manage to tell me how he knows my identity. I’m ready to escape as soon as possible, and if he doesn’t get started soon, I’m not going to give him the full five minutes.
I’m about to stand when he ceases wearing a path in my carpet and stands directly in front of me. “Lois—”
“Katie,” I snap back at him.
He shakes his head and crouches down to kneel in front of me. I’m perched on the edge of the chair, prepared to stand, so his movement brings him down to eye-level and disconcertingly close. “I’m not sure what has happened to you to cause you to think your name is Katie, but I can assure you it isn’t. I’m sorry if this is going to come as a bit of a shock to you, but your name is Lois Lane.”
This is irritating me, how he won’t give up this stubborn insistence of his. “How exactly do you know I’m this alleged Lois…Lane, you said? Really, mister, you’re suffering from a serious case of mistaken identity.”
“No, I promise you I’m not. I can’t possibly be wrong about this. Your name is Lois Lane, and you were once a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. You…*died* in the Congo, eleven years ago.”
I am starting to find this man infuriating. Can’t he just let it drop? I’ve never met him before, so there’s no way he can know who I am unless he’s not as good-intentioned as he has led the world to believe he is.
I snort. Fine. He wants me to pin him down, I will. “I don’t look dead to me. Alive and breathing healthily, actually. And really, if I’ve been dead,” I bite the word out at him with all the sarcasm I can manage, “for eleven years, and you’ve been in Metropolis for less time than that, how could you even remotely know who I am?”
I’m not sure what reaction I’m expecting from him, but it certainly isn’t this. He’s adopted a smug look, one eyebrow raised and a hint of a grin at the corners of his mouth as he asks, “Oh? And how could you even remotely know how long I’ve been in Metropolis?”
He’s mocking me! How dare he! “It is common knowledge Mr. Kent. Everybody knows your life story.” I stand up and jab one finger squarely in his chest, about where the “S” should be. It’s the equivalent of jamming my finger into a brick wall, but I’m not about to let him have even the slightest hint of how much my finger now hurts.
“Indeed, Ms. Lane. I know who you are, because I am a reporter for the Daily Planet. You’re a legend around there. It’s common knowledge.”
Oh. Well, there is that…
“I think we should start over. I’ll fix us something to drink, get you some ice for your finger, and then I’ll explain everything from the beginning.”
I open my mouth to protest, but change my mind. Despite the situation, I’m still holding out hope that maybe he isn’t evil after all. I can at least hear him out. Plus, my finger really is throbbing.
“Okay, fine,” I answer, turning on my heel and heading into the kitchen. “But I’m fixing the drinks.”
*******
The process of pouring two glasses of water takes a little longer than it should, since my right hand is currently out of commission. Mr. Kent is smart enough to know not to challenge me on this, so he sits silently at the table while I struggle through the stupid simple task of popping ice cubes from trays and dropping them in glasses. However, I do finally prevail, and with one more triumphant “Ah-ha!” on my behalf, we’re at last seated at the table with drinks and some leftover fudge cake Jenna brought home a couple of days ago.
“Okay,” I begin, as I hold my icy glass up against my right hand. “You said you had something to talk about. Go ahead.”
“No, let’s do this right.” He holds his right hand across the table in the traditional gesture. “Clark Kent. It’s nice to meet you, Ms. Lane.”
I wave my right hand back at him. “You’ll have to forgive me, but I’d rather not go for a handshake right now, Mr. Kent.”
He winces at the reminder and withdraws his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“It’s fine. I’m pretty sure nothing is broken.”
“Oh! What if you did break something? I should have thought about that!” Before I can blink, he’s standing over me, coaxing my right hand gently away from my body and sweeping over it with his eyes. It takes me a second to process that he must be using x-ray vision on me. It’s a surreal revelation when combined with the way my hand is now tingling where he is holding it.
I nervously laugh a little, partially at me, and partially at the Kryptonian. “Relax, I was only kidding. Nothing is broken. It’s not the first time I’ve jammed something, and I’m sure it won’t be the last.”
He seems appropriately sheepish. “Sorry, I just always worry I’m going to hurt someone. It’s easier than you would think to forget my strength.” He sits back down at the table, at the end this time, not across from me.
My heart melts just a little. Can this man really be evil? He seems as good-intentioned as he does on television, if not more. And definitely far more gorgeous. I thought he was a good-looking man before, but it turns out that cameras don’t do him any justice. They don’t covey this edge of vulnerability I see around him. Nor do they show all of the personality I can see lurking just beneath the surface.
“Can I ask you one question?” I blurt out before I can think better of it.
“Anything.”
“Why did you come to Smallville today?” I don’t know exactly what answer I’m looking for, but it’s the first question that comes to mind.
He looks a little confused, as if he didn’t expect my question any more than I did, but answers anyway. “I came today to go to Wayne’s funeral. He was very important to me when I was growing up, and I owed it to him to at least pay my respects.”
That’s a satisfactory answer, I think, but I press on. “How do you really know who I am?”
He grins, showing me a flash of pearly-whites. “That’s more than one question, Ms. Lane.”
“Please, just answer the question.” This is important. This is how he can prove to me that he can be trusted. If he answers this right, it may change my life forever.
He doesn’t answer me, though. Instead, he slumps back in the chair and hangs his head. His eyes are downcast and his hands are folded tightly together, knuckles white with tension. I can feel my heart breaking as the silence presses on. I thought today would bring me a chance at freedom, not reveal to me that my potential savior works for the wrong side.
When he finally speaks, his voice is barely above a whisper. “I know who you are, because I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”
My heart plunges to my stomach. I never expected him to verbally confirm what I was most afraid of. It’s too late, I think. Too late to run. He has me where he wants me—comfortable, open, vulnerable. There’s nothing I can say or do now that will save me, so I may as well get the most information I can out of him before I’m dead.
“I’m amazed it has taken you this long. I mean, I live on your old farm. I was under your nose this whole time and it took you, what, eight years to find me? Have you been working for them before you became Superman? Did they recruit you once they found out about your powers, or was this all part of some scheme? Who is *them* anyway? I’d at least like to know who wants me dead before you kill me.”
His head snaps up. “Kill you? You think I’m here to kill you?” His voice sounds alarmed, and if it is possible, his knuckles have turned even whiter. “Where did you get that idea? This is because I’m an alien, isn’t it? You’re afraid of me. I should have known. So many people are, I don’t know why I thought maybe…”
His eyes look haunted; they touch something deep inside of me. I never thought Superman could have fears as well as anybody else. I want so badly to believe he’s a good man—that he isn’t here to kill me, and maybe even able to help me—but this hope is warring with my instinct to fight for my life.
I decide to speak bluntly. Maybe we can get this over with quickly. “I don’t care if you’re from Krypton or Kansas, Mr. Kent. Your origins have nothing to do with this, really. The fact is, you showed up on my doorstep a half an hour ago, knowing it was Lois Lane who was going to answer that door. Even if you know something of me from working at the Daily Planet, I’ve been gone for eleven years. Having never met me before, I seriously doubt you could put a name to my face as quickly as you did unless you knew what you were looking for. That was your first mistake.”
I hold up a hand to forestall whatever he is about to say. “Then, you admitted not five minutes ago that you’ve been looking for me for a long time. Why would you be looking for a woman who is presumed dead, unless you honestly suspect she is not dead? The only ones who suspect I’m still living are those who specifically wanted to kill me in the first place, and I don’t think they’re going to be satisfied until my body actually turns up. So you have to be working for them. The Gamma Group. I’m just asking to know who they are before you finally do away with me. Think of it as a last wish. I want to know who the mastermind is behind the Gamma Group.”
I’m shaking by the time I finish speaking. I’ve laid everything out on the table; now I can only await my fate.
“Oh, Lois…no. I promise…no, that’s not it.” Mr. Kent slides his chair a little closer to mine, and I flinch. “Oh, what did they do to you?”
He reaches out, almost tentatively, and places his hand over mine. “I promise you, I’m not here to kill you. I don’t work for any organization, other than the Daily Planet. I’ve never heard of this Gamma Group, but if they’re trying to kill you, I can swear to you that I’m going to bring them down. From the way you have spoken, you know who I am. You know what Superman stands for. I would never hurt anyone, especially not you.”
“If that’s true, why were you looking for me?” I ask.
Mr. Kent removes his hand from mine, and runs it over his face. The gesture reminds me of someone trying to physically ease a tension headache. “Do you remember when it was revealed that I am Superman?” he asks from behind his hand.
I do remember that. It is incredible, the things this man can do, and it left an impression on me. One half of the saga appealed to the reporter still deep within me, the other half appealed to the girl who was in search of a savior, desperate to get back to her life in Metropolis. His unveiling was almost a defining moment in my life, if I had only had the means to get in touch with him when I found him.
And now he’s sitting here in front of me, having to prove to me that he’s a good-intentioned man.
“Yes, I remember. But what does that have to do with me?”
“This is quite possibly going to be the most incredible story you’ve ever heard in your life, but I swear it’s true. I’m going to need you to keep an open mind while I explain everything, okay?”
I guess it can’t hurt. I nod at him, indicating he should continue.
“Well, I had a little help becoming Superman…”
*******
My life does keep getting weirder and weirder.
For the last half hour, I have sat and listened to…what did he call it? The most incredible story I’ve ever heard in my life? That’s an understatement. Incredible doesn’t even begin to describe it.
This is crazy. Everything is crazy. That I’ve been stuck on a farm in Kansas for eleven years. That Superman is sitting next to me at my kitchen table. That there’s an alternate universe in a parallel dimension that contains another me, another Clark Kent, another Superman. Perhaps the craziest thing of all is that I believe him. I have no idea why, but I do. And there is one thing. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but I can remember that woman at the mayoral debate. She looked a lot like me, although I’d have never cut my hair that short. I just never put two and two together.
There’s another Lois Lane. One who has convinced this man, this super man, to look for me because…why, exactly?
“Why?” I echo my thoughts.
“Excuse me?” Mr. Kent looks a little confused, like he’s pondering exactly which part of his tale I’m questioning.
“Why were you looking for me? This Lois you met…how…” I’m struggling with finding the right words to express what I’m thinking. “Why did that influence you to seek me out?”
He seems to understand my question. “She was this amazing, incredible woman. So full of life, energy, passion. I thought, maybe if I could find the Lois Lane of this world and bring her back, the world would be a better place. If she—you—possessed even an ounce of what that Lois did, I’d be lucky to know you, maybe even count you as a friend.”
I sit back in my chair and think about this. Does he expect me to be this other woman? I don’t know if I can live up to that role. She sounds too good to be true.
“Mr. Kent…”
“It’s Clark, please.”
I try it on. “Clark.” Yes, that does feel right. “I can’t be this other Lois. I can’t be anybody but me. I have a feeling we’ve had very different lives, gone through events that have shaped us into being different people.”
Would I have ended up like her if I hadn’t been forced to Smallville?
Clark’s eyes light up. “Does this mean you believe me? Everything I’ve said to you, is the truth, I swear.”
It’s so crazy, this weird life of mine. I have no reason to believe him, but something inside of me just feels like I should. This seems so right. The sensation leaves tears pricking at the backs of my eyes as I smile a little. “I don’t know why, but yes, I believe you. The whole crazy story.”
Clark’s face breaks into this mega-watt smile. It should be illegal, it’s so gorgeous. “Lois, I don’t expect you to be anybody but yourself. I know you’re a different person than the other Lois I met, and I respect that. I want to get to know you, for who you really are, if you’ll let me.”
I don’t understand why, but that sounds like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. I can feel my lips shifting into my own grin, mirroring Clark’s.
“I think I’d like that.”
Clark holds out his hand to me. I grasp it, feeling that now-familiar energy tingle up my arm. “Tell me who Lois Lane is,” he says, locking eyes with me. They seem to bore into my soul, and I think for a moment that life has never been this perfect. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time. I can’t believe you’ve been living on my farm. Can you tell me how you got here? All I know is that you went to the Congo, and then just…disappeared.”
I shake my head. “No, I never made it to the Congo, but it’s good everybody believes that.”
“What happened?” he asks, his eyes conveying how seriously he is taking me.
What happened? That’s such a good question. How do you tell someone how your life suddenly went so wrong so quickly? I feel a pang of sadness for who I used to be, for my former life. I love Jenna and Daniel, but I loved being Lois Lane. I miss Metropolis, my friends, my family, my life.
That sadness disappears as quickly as it swooped down on me. I have a new friend, a new ally. I’m going to tell him my story, and I bet he’ll do everything in his powers to restore me to my former life. I can only go up from here, right?
“Well, it started in 1993 when I was investigating this gun-running ring…”
*******
TBC
