Thanks to Tahu for betareading.
From Part 11:
“But how? I can’t even describe him. And what are you planning to do about my...” he harrumphed uneasily. “...powers?”
Lois stopped pacing through the park for a moment to look at Clark. That was indeed a problem. If Clark was actually developing powers, it would be unpredictable what was going to happen next. But although Lois had promised him to help him deal with those abilities, she didn’t exactly know how. And however they were going to practice, doing it in bright daylight surely wasn’t a good idea.
“First Bobby Bigmouth, then your powers,” Lois decided.
She could tell by his expression that he would rather have it the other way round. Or would he? His emotions seemed to be a turmoil, irritating and confusing her. First he had been uncomfortable with her decision, then again he almost seemed to be relieved. Lois didn’t understand him at all and so she just walked on, dragging Clark with her.
Separate Lives or Till Life Do Us Part
Part 12
“Lois, this is so not fair,” Bobby Bigmouth complained between chewing on an egg role and a fortune cookie. “Clark here can kill Superman and you still like him and I don’t even get as much as a second dessert.”
The snitch looked at Clark. It was hard to tell if he believed that he was a murderer or if he was just curious to see Clark’s reaction. Listening to the accusations all over again had sort of started a film in his mind, constantly replaying the few memories of his past Clark had regained. Again, Clark felt the strong impulse to run, but how could you escape yourself? He blinked, trying to stay in the present.
“He didn’t kill Superman,” Lois replied testily and reached for one of the three bags that had been full to the bursting point when they had first arrived. Now, most of the take-out had miraculously disappeared in Bobby's mouth. “Besides, there was not only a second dessert but a third as well, Bobby. And now tell us what you know.”
Bobby defended his bag, continued to chew and shook his head. “I didn’t know anything yesterday and I sure as hell don’t know anything now. And – I may be wrong there – but you’ve found Clark, haven’t you?”
He grinned at Clark, wryly and took a bite of yet another egg role. His expression seemed to indicate that he considered his job to be over. Of course there were no news left that were worth telling. Clark had reappeared and it was useless trying to search for a murderer, when the one beside you had already made his confession. Perhaps, it took a snitch to make Lois see the truth, Clark thought helplessly.
Lois shot Bobby an angry glance and managed to withdraw the egg role from Bobby’s hands causing him to cry out in protest. She grabbed for the rest of the take-out, turning to leave.
“Okay, this is it. This is great take-out, Metropolis’ finest. I think I deserve something better than this. Come on, Clark. We leave,” Lois said firmly.
“Hey, hey, hey, Lois, I was just joking. Of course I‘ll tell you what I know about Superman’s death.” He looked at her, pleadingly. “Come on, Lois. Don’t let me starve to death!”
Clark watched Lois as she handed the take-out back to Bobby. He was no longer wondering why Lois had called him Bigmouth. The name was in fact an understatement. Never in his life had Clark seen anyone who could eat this much in so little time - but Bobby of course, which he didn’t remember. The snitch continued to eat and Clark watched him nervously. He was almost sure he already knew what he was going to hear, if Bobby could indeed tell them something about the alley. The snitch would certainly confirm his worst nightmares, and then he could only hope to find a hole he could disappear in – forever. Even so, a small part of Clark still claimed that his being a murderer was impossible and begged to hear a better explanation.
Waiting for Bobby to begin, Clark looked around, fearing that they would be found before he would hear anything at all. He still wondered how Lois had gotten this amount of take-out. Or how they had managed to get to Bobby without being noticed by anyone. It was a save guess that Inspector Henderson had already started a search. Besides the police there would be enough people who’d love to chase him down. Clark Kent certainly was Metropolis’ most hated citizen. The one who killed Metropolis’ All Time Hero.
“So come on, Bobby, spit it out, what could be interesting concerning Superman’s death?” Lois asked, her hand still on Bobby’s bag, threatening to take it with her, if he wouldn’t come up with something she hadn’t already heard.
“Well, first of all, Lois, do you remember that there was a second dead man? They found him in Hobbs Bay yesterday night.” Bobby began and shot Lois a curious glance.
She rolled her eyes, indicating that she did not want to hear anything about dead men other than Superman. Clark could only second that. His heart was pounding in his ears and he was almost sick with frustration as Bobby didn’t say the devastating or releasing words. But then Lois obviously decided to give it a try. She started to think really hard about the body Bobby had mentioned, or so it seemed. After a moment she shook her head.
“I don’t remember a second dead person,” she said. “What does that have to do with Superman?” she continued impatiently and slightly frustrated by her inability to remember something Bobby Bigmouth thought was important.
“Well, nothing, if you think that a dead Nigel St. James cannot somehow be involved in this whole thing.” Bobby replied with a shrug and returned his attention to the dessert.
“Nigel St. James? Luthor’s Nigel St. James?” Lois asked incredulously. “But Luthor is in jail!”
“Safe and sound!” Bobby confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean he has no connections. And didn’t Clark say that there was a third man in the alley?”
“You know about that?” Clark exclaimed with shock. It was about the first thing that meant anything to him. The man he thought he remembered hadn’t been just a product of his imagination. That was great, too, but this mysterious guy hadn't necessarly pulled the trigger. After all, Clark could still hear the weapon fall from his hands whenever he closed his eyes. It caused his breath to become uneven and a new wave of panic threatened to wash over him. It was almost impossible to stay focused, but Clark knew that he had to learn the truth, no matter what.
“Hey, I’m a snitch, I know everything,” Bobby explained and as he realized that both Lois and Clark were not satisfied with this, he added. “Henderson’s department is not that great at keeping secrets, lately. I would have thought you already figured that out.”
“Sort of,” Lois agreed. “What is this about the third man?”
Bobby scratched his head and waited for a moment. His fingers were playing with the now empty take-out bag and he seemed to be thinking about something. Meanwhile, Lois raised her eyebrows and harrumphed, which caused the snitch to flinch.
“There were several homeless people strolling through Suicide Slum that night. One of them mentioned to me that there was a strange guy running through the slum. He described him as tall - the Butler type of guy. Does that ring any bells?” Bobby asked.
Lois nodded slowly. “This could have been St. John, but why would he run through the darkness and kill Superman? It’s not as if Superman’s death would be of any use for Lex. Besides, he’d prefer to do this himself. I’m pretty sure of it.”
“The rest is up to you, Lois. Even if I would know more about it, I’d need a bit of food in advance. Too bad this is all I can tell you.” He shrugged and got up, leaving Lois and Clark with an empty bag. As he went away, he raised his arm in a greeting gesture and then he was gone.
Lois and Clark remained in the alley where they had met Bobby. It was a backstreet that was full of bins that served to cover them. No passerby would see them by chance and hopefully the police wouldn’t find them either. It was getting colder and Lois knew that it would be dark outside in a couple of hours. She was tired and disappointed, even though she knew that it was impossible to solve a mystery like this in just one day.
* * *
Metropolis, Henderson's office
“Any sign of Lane or Kent?” Henderson asked, as a younger colleague entered his office. The man shook his head.
This was the investigation he had always been afraid to do. He was professional and had never before let his feelings interfere with his job. But this time it was almost impossible to deny that he neither could nor wanted to consider that Clark Kent might be a murderer. Ever since the reporter had helped him nail Luthor, Henderson respected him. Getting all the information could very well have been deadly to Kent.
“He can’t have done it,” Henderson muttered to himself in quiet protest. Had he spoken out loud, he would probably have sounded like one of the criminals he saw on an almost daily basis. Each of them was claiming to be innocent and had ended up in front of Henderson’s desk by some cruel twist of fate. Clark Kent would have been one of them hadn’t it been for Lois to enflame the head rest. He should have been furious, because she wouldn’t let him do his job.
“Excuse me, Sir. What did you say?” the young colleague asked solicitously.
“It wasn’t important,” Henderson replied hastily. In fact, he would have liked to embrace Lois Lane. For about the first time in his life he was actually glad to know her. He vowed not to admonish her anymore for making his life a living hell, whenever she had an opinion on something that differed from his.
Henderson fought with himself. The rest of the world expected him to present Clark Kent on a silvery plate. If he didn’t find him the consequence was simple – try harder. If Henderson was completely honest, he had to admit that so far he hadn’t actually put much effort in getting Clark Kent.
The police officer looked at him, waiting for a decision. Henderson knew he couldn’t pretend that everything was fine. His colleagues wouldn’t accept his explanations forever. He hadn’t started a major search, justifying his decision with the need to keep Clark Kent save. If lots of people knew that he had managed to run away, they would take his flight as a proof of his guilt. And, which would be even worse really, they’d probably take the law on their own hands. So far, the press hadn’t heard of Henderson’s failure. He hoped that he would be able to keep this secret. But he couldn’t go on like this forever, because even his fellow police officers wouldn’t want to let Clark Kent escape, no matter how endangered his life might be.
“Try to find them as unobtrusively as possible. It’s our duty to do this investigation properly, regardless of how we feel about the victim and how much we despise his murderer. Our system will collapse if we ever allow self justice to take over,” Henderson said and his colleague nodded. “Have you found anyone who could confirm Mr. Kent’s claim that there had been a third man in the alley that night?” His voice sounded inappropriately hopeful and Henderson felt that he was at the verge of being biased.
The police officer shrugged. “I spoke to a couple of homeless who usually spend their nights in Suicide Slum. They said that one of their friends might have seen something, but unfortunately, the guy is utterly wasted. I doubt we can talk to him before tomorrow. That is, if he doesn’t continue to drink as soon as he wakes up.”
He left the office and Henderson was alone again. The inspector sat up and resumed to flip through the folders on his desk, trying to get a grip, an idea what could have happened in the alley. But soon he closed the folder again and got up. He wasn’t keen on doing his work sitting in his office. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do outside his office. He still needed to read a lot of testimonies. At least three quarter of them had been made by people who had seen their chance to be in the spotlight for that one moment in their lives. And given that he wasn’t keen on making any statements, he couldn’t go down either. With a sigh, Henderson went back to his desk and reached for a folder.
The pile on his desk seemed to have grown even while he had gotten up for that brief moment. Of course that wasn’t true. Even so, just looking at the pile sufficed to make Henderson feel like he was trying to climb Mt. Everest. Opening the folder and starting to read was his first step. He made in no farther than to the second paragraph, before he looked up again. It was hopeless.
Henderson went to his window and looked at the street in front of the police department. There was a crowd, quite similar in size to the crowd that had been in front of the Daily Planet. Not all the people down there were reporters though. Some people held pictures of Superman in their hands; a black ribbon wrapped around one edge. Others carried banners, demanding for the death of a man they hardly knew.
“Good luck, Kent,” Henderson whispered. Then he went back to his folders in another attempt to read them. It would again prove to be futile.
* * *
Metropolis, Daily Planet, Perry's office
“Perry White,” the Daily Planet’s editor in chief impatiently said as he took the call.
He really didn’t have time for this, he thought grumpily as he looked at the bunch of reporters waiting in the conference room. Perry was about to hang up again, because the person on the other end of the line didn’t reply at once. But then someone harrumphed.
“Um, Mr. White, this is Jonathan Kent.” The line was silent for a beat and the unshakable editor felt sweat appear on his forehead. He suddenly remembered that the Kents were abroad and couldn’t know what was going on here at the moment. “Mr. White, are you still there? My wife and I have been trying to call Clark over and over again, but he just won’t answer the phone,” Jonathan continued.
“He...um...is busy at the moment,” Perry said uneasily. “We had been worried about him, because he had been gone for four days, but then he miraculously reappeared this morning.”
“Clark is alive?” Jonathan exclaimed joyfully.
Perry could hear a deep sigh of relief and wasn’t sure if he could dare tell the rest of the story. Clark’s parents deserved their holiday and Perry was pretty sure that Clark wouldn’t have told them about his problems. But wouldn’t they learn the truth anyway? By tomorrow morning at the latest every newspaper from Metropolis to Timbuktu would name Clark Kent as Superman’s murderer.
“Thank you, Mr. White. We already feared that something might have happened to him. Do you know anything about Superman, I mean, was he identified?” Somehow Perry couldn’t help the impression that Jonathan Kent didn’t belief in the hero’s dead. Something about the way he asked seemed to indicate that he considered the news being false.
“Well, yes, Superman’s identity was confirmed,” Perry answered, again thinking about keeping this last bit of information to himself. But he knew that he couldn’t. “There is something else, Mr. Kent. I don’t like to tell you this, but your son is accused of being Superman’s murderer.”
A sudden click indicated that Jonathan Kent had ended the call. Perry stared at the receiver in his hand and wondered if he could have told him in a gentler way. But how did you make bad news sound good? Perhaps he should have added that the mere thought of Clark Kent being responsible for anything cruel was ridiculous. Unfortunately that didn’t change Clark’s situation at all.
* * *
Metropolis, a street somewhere in the city
“Isn’t that...” Someone shouted next to Clark and pointed at him. “Hey, it is Kent! He looks just like the guy on the Daily Planet advertisings.” Suddenly everyone on the street seemed to look at him, point at him. “You...! Murderer!”
“Oh my god,” Lois breathed and pushed Clark. “Run.” She whispered and urged him forward.
The people in front of them were gathering, slowly becoming like a wall Lois knew they soon wouldn’t be able to get through, super powered or not. She wanted to push Clark again; in fact she would have liked to slap his face for not being more cooperative. But finally he started to run - until the first punch hit him hard. Clark stumbled and would have fallen, if not someone else had landed another punch that pushed him into the other direction.
Lois could see pain in the expressions of Clark’s attackers, but she heard him gasp as well. She silently pleaded with him to defend himself, but she knew that Clark was still willing to believe that he might deserve this treatment. Lois felt a fist hit her ribs and she almost lost her balance, falling against Clark.
“Ow,” she moaned, appalled by the fact that she, too, had become an aim of the attackers.
“She didn’t do anything!” Clark shouted angrily. “Leave her alone.”
Suddenly, she felt a firm grip on her hands, dragging her closer. Clark shielded her and started to run, pushing people aside on his way. Lois had trouble keeping up with him. He had one arm wrapped around her, using his other to work his way through the crowd that seemed to be even denser than before.
“Murderer! Murderer! Murderer!” People shouted angrily, closing in on Clark and Lois, even though they were still running.
Before Lois managed to utter a warning, it happened – someone tripped Clark up and he fell, taking her with him. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt at all, which was because she didn’t hit the ground, or did she? Clark’s falling however must have been rather artistic and Lois wouldn’t have been able to tell how on earth she had landed on her butt. Clark helped her up, and they stood again, before anyone had had the chance to take advantage of their situation. This time Clark didn’t hesitate, but started running again. The way in front of them was relatively free and Clark pushed the remaining people aside.
Suddenly the crowd was behind them, screaming and shouting furiously, throwing things after them. The people, too, started to run, but their being part of the crowd slowed them down. Clark on the other hand was obviously still fit enough to run and Lois hardly managed to follow him.
“Murderer! Murderer!” she heard the screams behind her and forced her body to move faster. She didn’t want to be caught again.
“Call the police, someone.”
“Doesn’t anybody have a weapon?”
*NO!* Lois thought panicky. This couldn’t be happening. The pictures of Clark being shot came back to her, the memory of this unbearable loneliness she had felt then. She activated her last reserves, getting a bit faster. But her lungs had started to burn and she knew that she wouldn’t be able to run like this much longer. She panted; her muscles were beginning to hurt. *I need to go on, go on, go on!* she urged herself on.
“Murderer! Murderer!” the screams seemed to come even closer.
“Come on,” Clark breathed next to her and dragged her with him, turning into a smaller, empty street on their right.
Clark didn’t know what he wanted there. In fact, he didn’t know how he was supposed to escape them at all. But he had to. For Lois' sake he had to. The first attack on her had sufficed to convince him that she was going to die there, if he would let the crowd win over. And that was something he could not let happen. It was one thing that the people wanted to see Superman’s murderer punished. He wouldn’t have minded, because the mere thought of being responsible for something like this was unbearable, anyway. It had been his finger pulling the trigger, not Lois’. So how could he let her suffer?
Suddenly the crowd was out of sight, only their angry screams indicating that they were not yet out of danger. Clark would have liked to vanish into nothingness. He wanted to escape, so much that it almost hurt. Next to him, Lois slowed down, though they didn’t have time to catch their breath. The crowd would soon reach them, making their situation only worse. Clark closed his eyes and sent a quick prayer to Heaven. If only he could keep Lois safe, he would turn himself in without hesitating.
Out of the blue, he thought of the pictures he had seen of Superman. Flying would be great, Clark thought as he ran on, his eyes still closed. He didn’t know why he hadn’t already opened them again. Maybe because the fantasy of flying away with Lois was just so fantastic. A scream brought Clark back to his senses and he almost would have screamed as well. The street was below them, very deep below them. But it came closer with an almost incredible speed.
“Clark! You are flying!” Lois stated the obvious, sounding scared and excited at the same time. “Oh, my god! Clark, concentrate! You can do this!” she added as she realized that they were already falling rather than flying.
Clark would have laughed hadn’t their situation been so precarious. He had no idea how he had managed to fly in the first place, much less how one continued to fly. For the lack of a better idea, he tried to concentrate on the brief day dream he had had, shortly before he had realized he was in the air.
"They’re gone," he heard angry voices from below them. "How can they be gone?"
A little unsteady and with wobbly knees, Clark landed on a near skyscraper. He felt seriously drained. His breath came in short gasps and black spots were dancing in front of his eyes. Using this yet unknown power had taken its toll on him. Carefully, he sat Lois back on her feet. She stared at him, adoration and surprise written on her face. Self-consciously, she went over to Clark and fixed his tie and straightened his jacket. Then she got up to her tiptoes and kissed Clark gently.
“And I wanted to practice first...” she mumbled. “You saved my life, Clark.”
to be continued
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