Part 2...
She walked unsteadily to the farm gate. Nunk had said he would meet her there with proof – a low-quality copy of his ‘original’. She wanted to believe he wouldn’t come. She wanted to believe his evidence was fabrication. But the heavy nausea in her stomach told her she was hoping in vain.
Moments later she was holding a copy of the predictive computer-generated image of the alien. It was grainy and low-resolution, but one thing was undeniably clear.
It was Clark Kent.
+-+-+-+
WEEKEND IN SMALLVILLE
PART 3
Clark’s heart constricted whenever he thought of Lois flying home. He was convinced Hodge would ensure the film never reached Metropolis.
Clark considered insisting he accompany her. But, assuming he could save an entire planeful of people, he couldn’t do it without blowing his secret. Big time. And if he wasn’t quick enough or strong enough, innocent people would die.
He rolled his fingers across the film, still in his pocket. One quick clench of his fist and it would be gone... destroyed.
But Lois had trusted him to keep it safe.
He had no choice. He had to tell Lois he could fly her and the film to Metropolis and guard the Daily Planet office until her story hit the newsstands.
She would know his secret.
But it was the only way to keep her safe.
He heard a sound at the door and turned to find Lois staring at him with an unreadable expression on her face. “Lois. What is it?”
She didn’t answer and his terror escalated. “I need to tell you something, Lois,” he said.
“Get your parents,” she said. “I need to talk to all of you.”
+-+-+-+
Lois sat at the table and faced the Kent family, perceiving the anxiety they were trying to keep hidden. Clark’s face was bleak. She knew Martha and Jonathan were gripping each other’s hands under the table.
Lois wanted to do this right. She must not babble. She took a big breath.
“Nunk got to the Sewells last night, sometime between their two meetings with Hodge. They sold him a picture. This is a copy.” She took it out of her bag and unfolded it. “It is the predictive image of what the baby in the space ship would look like now.”
She placed the paper before them. She heard Jonathan’s quick intake of breath and saw Martha cover her mouth with her hands. Clark’s only response was a dismissive glance toward the picture.
“Nunk says there is no record of Clark’s birth. He says there are no records of Martha Kent ever giving birth. No adoption papers. No change-of-name papers. Nothing to prove Clark Kent exists.
“Nunk is going to publish this picture in tomorrow’s Inquisitor with the allegation Clark is the baby alien who came to Smallville in a space ship in 1966.”
Lois stopped and a heavy silence descended. She looked at Clark. He was staring at the table as if he wished he could bore two holes through it. She looked at Martha whose shock was wet with abundant tears. She looked at Jonathan who was looking at his wife with undisguised pain.
So it was true.
Lois had a sudden urge to grab Clark’s hand and take him away. Hide with him, forever if necessary, so he could escape the interrogation and personal invasion which was almost certainly coming.
“Lois,” Clark rasped, his voice almost unrecognisable. “I have to tell you –“
“Clark!” Jonathan scythed across his son’s words. He put his hand on Clark’s shoulder. “It’s time to tell the truth,” he said gently.
“I know,” Clark ground out. “I’ll do it.”
“No,” Jonathan said, in a tone which defied argument. “I’ll do it.”
Jonathan met Martha’s eyes and clasped her hand in his with infinite gentleness. He faced Lois directly. “I went to school with a girl called Chrissie. She came from a poor family, her parents were alcoholics. She was bullied at school and I tried to stand up for her when I could.”
Lois smiled inwardly. Clark would do that too.
“Her family moved away when she was sixteen. I left school, married Martha, worked the farm. We had everything we wanted, except for one thing. We couldn’t have children.”
Another tear tumbled down Martha’s cheek and plopped on the table.
“A few years later, in the middle of the night, I heard someone banging on the door. Chrissie was there, holding a small bundle in a blue blanket. She was hysterical and very frightened. She said her life was in danger, bad men wanted her dead and she was terrified they would hurt her son.
“She begged me to take him and say he was ours. She had birthed him by herself in an alley. She didn’t register his birth because she was afraid any link with her would lead these ‘bad men’ to him. She didn’t even name him. She spent three months hiding and running to me where she felt her son could be safe.”
A hot, rough wad of emotion forced its way up Lois’s throat. She glanced at Clark. He had not moved. His face and neck were rippled along the underlying clenched muscles.
“Martha and I needed to explain why we suddenly had a three month old baby. We made up a story about a distant cousin and his wife who were killed in a car wreck.”
“We were so happy,” Martha said, emotion thickening her words. “Clark was the impossible gift we had desperately hoped for.”
Lois brushed at the tears deepening in her eyes. “Where’s Chrissie now?”
Jonathan went to the bureau and opened a drawer. He took out an old book and from it, withdrew a yellowed news clipping. He handed it to Lois.
It was a short article from the Smallville Press, dated 1969. In sketchy detail, it reported that former Smallville resident, Chrissie Dawson, had been brutally bashed and murdered, her body found in a New York dumpster.
“Our son is *not* an alien,” Martha said, with quiet dignity.
“But we can’t prove it,” Jonathan said, “because, as Nunk discovered, Clark has no official identity.”
“How have you managed to get this far?” Lois asked Clark. “Do you have a passport? A driver’s licence?”
He dragged his eyes from the table. The life had drained from him, leaving only a shell. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
“He has both,” Martha said, with a tinge of defensiveness. “Identity wasn’t such a big issue in the sixties. Not in Smallville.”
Lois pushed aside her emotions and forced herself to think like a reporter. The Sewells’ story, factual or not, had much greater impact with a tangible threat to incite people’s paranoia. What if they needed a face to put to their story – a male about the right age, living in Smallville? What if, with a little research, they had discovered Clark was the perfect target?
She picked up the picture and studied it. Anyone who knew Clark would immediately recognise him. Was it possible they had worked backwards from a current photo of Clark, instead of forwards from the DNA?
“When it comes to protecting your family,” Jonathan said with conviction, “You do whatever needs to be done.”
Clark was staring at the table again. Lois saw the shimmer run along his jaw.
“What are we going to do?” Martha asked.
“We could print the truth now,” Lois said. “I doubt whoever killed Chrissie is still a threat to Clark.”
“That might be best,” Jonathan said slowly.
“But why would anyone believe us?” Martha said. “We have nothing to prove what we say.”
“And too many years have passed to try to find someone who knew Chrissie.”
“They can’t actually take Clark away,” said Martha. “Can they?”
This must be excruciating, Lois thought, being discussed like this.
Clark had said nothing.
He looked like a condemned man.
He looked beaten.
The injustice hit her. Hard. He, of all people, didn’t deserve this.
Lois took a pen and paper from her bag. “Write down the details of your story about your cousin,” she said. “Their names, the date of Clark’s birth, the place of his birth, the date and place of their deaths, your names and the date you adopted Clark.”
Jonathan wrote for a few minutes and handed the paper to Lois. She stood and her chair on the wooden floor grated through the morose atmosphere. “Mind if I use the car?” she asked. She paused long enough to smile at Martha and Jonathan and left.
+-+-+-+
Clark had been glaring at the table for what seemed like forever. He knew Lois was in Smallville – he’d tracked the sound of the motor. She was probably filing her story right now.
The story about the alien living in Smallville.
She was an investigative reporter, she wasn’t going to swallow his father’s feeble attempt to cover the truth.
Not that she had much to investigate. His father had *written* the details of their first fake story and *handed* them to her. On a platter!
For the first time in his life, Clark was angry with his father. So angry he didn’t trust himself to speak.
That they had lied to Lois sat leaden in his gut. She would know. He doubted she would ever speak to him again. Which might be a good thing. Her scorn would be unbearable.
And if she never realised the Chrissie story was fabrication? It would be one more secret to add to the reasons they could never be together.
He felt trapped like a wounded, dying animal.
“Clark?” his mother said gently.
Eventually he was going to have to say something. “Mom, would you leave? Please. I need to speak with Dad.”
His mom paused. In his peripheral vision, he saw his father nod to her. Quietly, she stood and left the room.
“Why?” Clark groaned, knowing he was frighteningly close to the edge of control.
“Because we were pushed into a situation where we had no other options.”
“It’s not the truth.”
“I *did* have a friend called Chrissie. She *did* have a tough childhood. She *did* leave Smallville. She *was* murdered.”
“She *wasn’t* my mother!”
“She was –“
“You had this planned, didn’t you?” Clark accused darkly.
“Since the day I read about Chrissie’s death.”
“So her death was nothing more than a convenience for you?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why?” Clark demanded, knowing his anger was more apparent in every word.
“What’s the alternative, Clark, we tell them we found you in a space ship?”
“At least I wouldn’t have to live with lies and secrets.”
“You wouldn’t *live* at all, Clark. Not really. You would lose your life and your mother... your mother would lose her son.”
Clark heard the emotion snag his father’s voice and his anger melted like butter on hot toast. He looked up, wanting eye contact. He was startled to see tears glistening in his dad’s eyes.
“Aw, Dad,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too, son. I should have been able to protect you from this.”
Of all the people who could have found him, none could have loved him more profoundly than Jonathan and Martha Kent.
“But Dad,” Clark said gently. “We don’t have any more proof for this story than we had for the first one.”
“That’s not the point, Clark.”
“Then what is?”
“This one can’t be disproved... and that might just be enough to tip the balance in our favour.”
“It makes you and Mom look like liars.”
“Do you think I care about that son? Do you think I care one iota what anyone thinks of me? I want you and your mom happy and safe. Nothing else matters.”
They were silent for a long time.
“This is going to be big, isn’t it?” Jonathan said and Clark heard the fear vibrate through his words.
“Yeah,’ he replied. “But Dad, whatever happens... whatever... we protect Mom as much as we can.”
His dad smiled... actually smiled. “You got it, son.”
+-+-+-+
Lois knocked on Franklin Hodge’s door at the hotel. He had booked the room until Monday and she knew he’d still be there. He didn’t do the unexpected.
He opened the door. “Ms Lane. This is a surprise.”
“About the life lesson,” she said. “You said power is the only viable currency. You said you have it.”
“Go on.”
“I have something you want. If you really do have power, you can get something I want.”
“What do you want?”
Lois handed him the paper with the details Jonathan had written. “Make this official.”
Hodge read the paper.
Lois continued. “I want a birth certificate, death certificates, adoption papers, hospital records changed. I want it water tight.”
“And I get the photos?”
“Yes.”
“How would I know you don’t have copies?”
“The film hasn’t been developed yet.”
“Bring it here at four o’clock.”
“How do I know you’ll have the documents?” Lois asked.
“There’s no reason not to have them.”
“Are the Sewells dead?”
“The Sewells have been taken to a place where they can be helped to build new lives.”
“Can I quote that?”
“If you quote Buddy McGlynn, not Franklin Hodge.”
“*Is* there a space ship?" she asked. "An alien?”
“Do you have any evidence they exist outside the minds of the Sewells?”
“No.”
“Well then.”
She turned to leave, but stopped. “Did you organise for a lorry to kill me this morning?”
“I already said you wouldn’t have the photos, Ms Lane.”
“So you *did* try to kill me?”
“I did what needed to be done. Those photos cannot be published.”
“What would *need to be done* if I were to take the film to Metropolis?”
“A tragic plane disaster. Alternatively, were you to stay tonight at the Kents, there would be a fire, killing them and you.”
“You’re evil.”
“No, Ms Lane. I just do what -.”
She slammed his door, hating his cool composure, abhorring his indifference to the methods used to achieve his ends.
If it wasn’t for Clark, she would find a way to get those damn photos published just to put a dent in his smug superiority.
+-+-+-+
The door to the office of the Smallville Press was unlocked. Lois walked in and found it a buzz of activity. A tall woman came over to her. “Can I help you?”
“I’m Lois Lane, Daily Planet. I’m working with Clark Kent on a story and I’ve been using his computer.”
“Ms Lane, I’ve read your work. Sit down, I’ll log on for you.”
Lois wrote her story. How a brilliant, but misguided couple expounded the reports of a UFO sighting in Smallville in 1966 into an unsubstantiated story of a baby alien who, now grown, lived amongst us. How they speculated he had unknown intentions and possibly frightening powers. How they attempted to blackmail the government into securing their silence for one million dollars. How their supporting evidence – space ship, strand of hair, DNA – had not been located.
She completed the story with a quote from Buddy McGlynn, government agent.
She gave the byline as ‘Lois Lane, with Clark Kent (Smallville Press)’ and sent her story to Perry.
She wrote a separate story detailing how Leo Nunk, reporter for the National Inquisitor, had bought the predictive image from the Sewells and concocted an easily-refutable story claiming Clark Kent had no proof of identity.
“Hodge had better get those papers,” she muttered as she hit ‘send’.
It wasn’t going to win her a Pulitzer.
It might not even make Page One.
But the Kents would have the proof they needed and Clark... She smiled. Clark would no longer look so broken.
And, as a not-insignificant bonus, she had trumped Nunk.
+-+-+-+
Martha and Jonathan were still at the kitchen table when Lois came in. They looked up with a thousand questions, but she asked hers first. “Where’s Clark?”
“On the porch,” Martha replied. “He’s hurting so bad.”
Lois went to the porch. He was leaning against the post, head forward, shoulders slumped, both hands deep in his pockets.
“Clark?”
He jumped and turned.
“Give me the film,” she said.
“No, Lois. You don’t realise how dangerous Hodge is.”
“Oh yes I do.” She held out her hand. “Trust me, Clark.”
“Lois, Hodge will kill you to stop you using those photos.”
“Oh, I intend to use the photos.”
“Lois,” he said unevenly. “I can’t stand the thought of you being hurt.”
She felt herself being drawn to him. She wanted to hold him so bad. She stood her ground. “If I promise I won’t get hurt, will you give me the film?”
“Only if I can come with you.”
“You can’t.” No way was she going to risk spooking Hodge by doing anything he wasn’t expecting.
Clark stared at her stubbornly, his hands firmly entrenched in his pants pockets.
Ok, she was going to have to be brutal. The only question was which weapon.
She could use intimidation - involving both barrels of a Mad Dog Lane special. But anger was the last thing she was feeling. She couldn’t even fake it.
She could use allure – involving the fact she was a woman and he was a man. But Clark was so principled he probably wouldn’t even look if she undid a few blouse buttons.
She could use his conscience – with a few feminine wiles for good measure. She mustered tears – not difficult considering they’d been threatening most of the day – and looked at him soulfully.
“I *trusted* you.”
With a look of crushed surrender, he took the film out of his pocket and gave it to her. She put it in her bag and started to go, but her resolve wavered and she turned back.
She stepped close to him and put both hands on his face. She slid past his jaw, down his throat and stopped on the ridges of tight muscle at the base of his neck. She massaged him gently. “Hang in there,” she whispered. “We’re not beaten yet.” She kissed him, softly, lingeringly, on his cheek.
With a smile, she turned and left.
+-+-+-+
Franklin Hodge gave her an envelope. Lois took out the documents and checked them. They didn’t feel new. In fact they looked and felt like they had been carefully stored away for over twenty years.
She took the film from her bag and gave it to him.
“Nice doing business with you Ms Lane.”
She couldn’t say the same.
“Ms Lane?”
“Yes.”
“I’m not evil, I merely protect the bigger picture.”
Lois didn’t respond. As she hurried to Clark’s car, she hugged the envelope to her body, joyfully anticipating what was to come.
+-+-+-+
Martha was making coffee when Lois rushed into their kitchen. “Where’s Clark?” she asked breathlessly.
“On the porch,” Jonathan said.
“Get him,” Lois said and went to Martha and wrapped her in a big hug.
+-+-+-+
Clark Kent’s mind was in turmoil. He was simultaneously trying to deal with the stark reality of the front page of tomorrow’s Inquisitor and the dreamlike memory of Lois’s hands and lips. One would break his mother’s heart. The other would probably break his.
If only...
“Clark! Clark! Lois is home and she wants to see you.”
Clark followed his father into the kitchen. Lois was hugging his mother, who had a watery smile through her tears.
Lois seemed to float across the floor to him. She held out an envelope with a look of total triumph. He took it.
“Open it,” she urged with a glorious smile.
He opened it and took out the documents. He saw a birth certificate with the names CLARK JEROME and felt the rare-for-him sensation of tears welling.
He blinked furiously and managed to refocus. He sifted through the documents. When he saw the adoption papers and the names Jonathan and Martha Kent, his eyes swam again.
Lois took the papers from him and handed them to Martha. Clark saw his mother’s unbelieving delight before Lois descended upon him bodily and he was captured in her hug. He saw his parents embrace before moving as one to him and Lois. He reached over and kissed the top of his mother’s head and met his father’s eyes.
“Thank you,” he mouthed.
Jonathan stretched his arm around Lois and pulled his son even closer.
When the hug dissolved, Lois’s hair was dishevelled and her cheeks were damp and her mascara had smudged a little. Her brown eyes shone with exhilaration. “Amazing what can be achieved with one roll of film,” she giggled.
It was then Clark Kent knew the die was cast.
He loved Lois Lane.
And he would forever.
Eternally.
Lois was smiling at him. “Give me two minutes to freshen up, then we’re out of here.”
He returned her smile. “Going where?” he asked, knowing he would willingly follow her to the ends of the earth.
“We have a story to write.”
“We?”
“Well I’m not going to write your story for the Smallville Press by myself.”
“What about your story for the Daily Planet?”
“Already done. Perry said he was willing to share with the Press.”
Clark chuckled. Inside, he was dancing. She was unbelievable. “So long as we’re home for supper,” he said with mock severity. “Mom’s making apple pie.”
“Is it good?” Lois asked.
“I used to think it was the best taste on earth.”
+-+-+-+
Early the next morning, Clark landed in Metropolis and walked to a newsstand. He bought the morning editions of the Daily Planet and the National Inquisitor. He unfolded the Planet. He registered the headline and the story, but it was the byline which captured his attention.
He grinned.
She was incredible.
+-+-+-+
Lois woke, stretched and smiled as her memories of last night floated back. It had been one of the most wonderful nights of her life.
Martha had outdone herself with supper. The apple pie was as good as Clark had promised. But as delicious as it was, the food came a poor second to the love-filled atmosphere of family togetherness. And that atmosphere had stretched to encompass her. Lois hugged her pillow tighter.
Later, after she was in bed, Martha had come in. Her words of gratitude still brought a lump to Lois’s throat. She knew they were not empty words. These people didn’t feign family. It was too important to them, too central to their very existence.
A knock sounded on her door. “Lois, it’s Clark. Can I come in?”
She pulled a sweater over her pyjamas and sat up. “Come in, Clark.”
He entered with a tray and a bundle of newspapers. He put the tray at the foot of the bed and handed her the National Inquisitor.
“How did you get this?”
“I know someone who flies between here and Metropolis.”
She looked at the front page. The computer image of Clark shared equal prominence with the headline ‘ALIEN INVASION’.
Lois skimmed the story. As she had expected it was long on speculation – how did this alien plan to destroy the world? Were there others? Was everyone in Smallville part of the conspiracy? Why had Martha and Jonathan Kent been chosen by alien powers to bring up the alien baby?
“Oh Clark,” she said. “This is awful.”
But he didn’t seem too upset. He handed her the morning edition of the Daily Planet.
“SCIENTISTS’ BLACKMAIL ATTEMPT FOILED, by Lois Lane with Clark Kent (Smallville Press),” she read.
He sat on the bed. “I thought you told me to keep my hands off your story.”
She smiled happily. “I figured you deserved a mention.”
“Thanks,” he said, with a big grin.
She liked him. A whole lot. But she was going back to Metropolis today. “Is that breakfast I see?”
He handed her the tray. “Coffee and your favourite chocolate croissant.”
“I never would have believed Smallville had such wonderful croissants.”
“There’s more to Smallville than meets the eye.”
“So I’ve seen.”
“Lois?” His husky tone caused her heart to somersault.
“Uhm?”
“Thank you.” He lightly stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. “It’s not nearly enough... but I want you to know I mean it with my whole heart.”
His sincerity was something she would remember later... when she was alone... when she wasn’t being bombarded by gentle, eloquent eyes. For now, she needed an out. “You’re not happy about the lie though, are you?”
His mouth tightened. “No. I hate that we lied. Lois...” He enfolded her hand in both of his. “Lois... I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“That we lied... that we involved you in the lie.”
She put her other hand on top of his. “The truth couldn’t be proved and you needed proof yesterday or Nunk’s story would have seemed credible. People would always have questions about you.”
“I don’t care what other people think.”
“Your parents have lived in this small community all their lives. If we have saved them from speculation, the lie was worth it.”
He still wasn’t convinced. She lifted the jumble of hands and fingers to her mouth and kissed, hoping she would hit his hand, not hers. He smiled. He had one powerful smile. Lois looked beyond his glasses. It would be so, so easy to lose herself in those melting-chocolate eyes.
But she was a hard-nosed reporter from Metropolis.
He was a soft-hearted farm boy from Smallville.
She would slowly and excruciatingly suffocate in Smallville.
He would be eaten alive in Metropolis.
She didn’t have time for romance.
She certainly didn’t have time for a long-distance relationship.
She extricated her hands. “Eat your breakfast, Kent,” she said with a smile to soften her words. “I have a plane to catch.”
+-+-+-+
Clark watched as the plane disappeared, taking Lois back to Metropolis.
He’d known her three days and his life would never be the same.
If only he could have taken her into his arms and flown her to Metropolis. If only he could have said, “I am from another planet. I can fly and do other unusual things. But I love you, Lois Lane and I’m desperately hoping what I feel matters more than what I do.”
Clark turned away. If only...
So much he couldn’t do.
But one thing he could do - he could ring Perry White and ask if he had read his resume.
+-+-+-+
Thanks for reading!
