Hi,
As promised, the last two parts. Thank you all for your kind comments. It's amazing to know that you have remembered my fic.
Anyway, I hope this keeps you engrossed.
Yours Jenni
Previously on Lois and Clark ...
Vicky had overheard the woman say the wallet was still there, but the tickets were gone. What if the thief had only wanted the tickets ... wanted to get in to see the show?
"Lois!" Clark choked out, standing abruptly.
"You think Lois is in danger?" Jim asked, his face paling.
Clark's chair fell over but he didn't stop to pick it up. He was already moving, his earlier sense of horror threatened to paralyse him, but he thrust it aside. Lois needed him, Tory needed him ... and his parents. Matt was in Switzerland. He was the only one who could save them.
"Jim," he called over his shoulder. "Call Peterson and the bomb squad. Tell them to get over to Stern Studios ... Now, right now!"
*****
Part 31 ...
That afternoon, Metropolitans in the down town area of the city swore a mini hurricane swept through the concrete canyon streets, snatching at their heavy winter clothing, even blowing a few hats from people's heads and swirling litter high into the air, yet it passed so quickly that no one could be sure.
Clark didn't care. Flying wasn't possible, so he did the only thing he could. He ran, fear lending him a speed nearly as fast as in his days as Superman. Just before he reached the porticoed entrance to Stern Studios, he slowed. Becoming more than an invisible force, he pushed his way through the glass doors into the foyer where a sense of chaos reigned. He watched as a steady trickle of frightened people hurried down the stairway, while security men shepherded them outside.
Clark marched forward, only to be halted by one of these uniformed guards.
"I'm sorry sir, but I can't allow you to go any further," the security man said, placing his considerable bulk firmly in Clark's path. "I'm afraid there's some sort of incident happening in one of the studios ..."
"I know. There's a guy in there called Timmons, and I believe he's carrying a bomb." Clark tried to keep his voice low. Perhaps many of these people, who seemed to be milling about haphazardly, were unaware of the type of incident that was playing out upstairs, and it wouldn't help his chances of rescue to create a full scale panic. Pulling the man aside, Clark continued tersely. "My name is Clark Kent and my wife, Lois Lane, is a member of the panel on this afternoon's show. The bomber is threatening my wife, and not you, nor anyone else, is going to stop me going in there."
The security man gulped, but stood his ground. "How did you hear about the bomb?" he asked, clearly confused. "We don't even have a full picture of what's going on in that studio ... just what we've been told by the people who've managed to get out."
"I'm a reporter from The Daily Planet, and the bomber decided to send me a message," Clark replied, without giving away the details of the said communique. "That's why I'm here. The police and the bomb squad are on their way, but I suggest you start evacuating the building as calmly and quietly as you can. We don't want to spook the bomber. Understand?"
As the guard nodded, Clark started to walk away, but the man held him back.
"Sir, I still don't think it's a good idea for you to go into that studio."
Looking down at the hand on his arm, Clark quickly disentangled himself. He wanted to push the man aside, to rant at him for wasting his time. Instead, he instinctively assumed his Superman stance, while his voice deepened with authority. "My wife and family are in that studio, and I intend to protect them. Now, please, stand aside and let me do my job."
The guard's hands dropped to his side, no match for the desperate determination, nor the sheer power which seemed to emanate from the reporter's bearing. In seconds, Clark had gone.
*****
The corridor at the top of the stairs was empty; anyone who had managed to leave the studio had already made it down to the first floor and an eerie stillness had fallen on this floor of the building.
Clark subdued a shudder while he crept toward a set of double doors across the landing, only to be alerted by a stealthy step behind him. He squinted around to see the guard who had accosted him, following in his wake.
Exasperation furrowed Clark's brow as he gestured the guard to go back, but the guy answered in a whisper. "I'm not letting you go alone. The safety of the public in Stern Studios is my responsibility. I've told my colleagues to clear the rest of the building as unobtrusively as possible. They can use the stairwell at the other end of the building."
"There is more than one stairwell?" Clark asked abruptly. He really didn't want company, nor did he have time to chat, but he decided it might be prudent to learn the layout of the place.
"Yeah, at either end of the corridors. There's the elevators as well, but I take it we shouldn't use them, not if there's a bomb ..." The man looked doubtful. "Are you sure there's a bomb?"
"As sure as I can be. This is the same guy who's been blowing up parts of Metropolis ..."
Clark cut the conversation short. He'd prefer to do this alone, but arguing with the guard was obviously futile, and he could use his powers covertly. The guard need never know.
In the few seconds it had taken Clark to resign himself to the other man's presence, the guy had crossed to the doors and was about to peer through the small rectangular windows. Hardly touching the floor, Clark was by the guard's side. "Don't. Don't show yourself," he hissed.
"What? You think we should go in there blind?"
"No!"
Clark did believe in checking the interior of the studio out. However, he couldn't mention he'd been going to attempt to look through the walls. Besides, that might not be the best of ideas, since over using his powers usually meant depleting them, and he'd already used super speed to get here. Perhaps he could take a quick, surreptitious glance to see where Timmons was situated in relation to Lois and the rest of his family.
"Of course not," Clark whispered. "Go ahead, but be careful."
Being careful didn't seem to be an issue for either man. Judging by the guard's movements, Clark guessed he'd probably had some military training in his past. At least, the man was too busy concentrating on his reconnaissance mission to pay attention to what Clark was doing.
Pulling his glasses down, Clark peered at the wall, willing the bricks and mortar to disappear. To his relief, a hazy picture shimmered into being, blurred but distinguishable. His first concern was Lois, and his eyes were instinctively drawn to her.
Why was he not surprised to find her standing close to the edge of the stage, confronting a man, most likely Timmons, while the host and the rest of the panel were cowering in the background? His wife was talking to someone he was pretty certain was on a suicide bombing mission.
"Oh, Lois!" The words escaped his lips, even if they were hushed, as a surge of fear and pride ripped through him. "Please be careful."
His second thought was for his daughter. Looking over the audience, he was astonished to see Vicky standing in a row, close to the middle of the auditorium, being encouraged to move along by his parents. What in the world was going on? Whatever was happening, it seemed Vicky was, once again, proving she was her mother's daughter.
"Two o'clock!" The guard's voice broke into Clark's musings.
"Excuse me?" Clark pushed his glasses back in place, throwing the man a questioning glance.
"The bomber ..." the man said quietly, gesturing with his chin. "At the foot of the right hand steps."
The guard's description had confirmed Clark's suspicions that he might have been in the military, and for that Clark was also thankful. At least his companion was unlikely to charge in and panic Timmons.
"How do you want to play this?" the guard asked again, instinctively submitting to Clark's seeming knowledge of the perpetrator.
"Very carefully." Seeing that Timmons was totally focused on the stage, Clark peered through the glass window in the door. After a moment he commented, "He seems to be holding something in his hands. The detonator?"
"Are you sure he has a bomb?" the other man asked again, hardly believing his own eyes.
Clark's eyebrows rose as he squinted at his momentary partner. "I'm certain. Don't you think so?"
"It's a pity these studios are soundproofed. We can't hear what's going on, but the audience does look terrified."
"Yes. You can tell he's talking ..."
"Probably making demands?" the guard suggested.
"I doubt it. He doesn't want anything ... only revenge. This guy is very disturbed and he feels like he doesn't have anything left to live for. I'm pretty sure this is a suicide mission." Clark sent an appraising look at the security man. "You don't happen to have a firearm on you?"
The man shook his head, giving a tiny lopsided grin. "This is a TV Network, not a high security unit, and if that guy is holding a detonator, shooting him might not be an option."
"True," Clark conceded, dispiritedly, before straightening his shoulders. "I guess we have to talk him down."
This time the security man's eyebrows rose. "You think you can do that?"
"I have no idea. He does feel he has some sort of connection with me." Clark straightened up. "Lets say, I think I can keep him talking, at least until the MPD arrive." He began to inch silently toward the far door. "Could you go down stairs and wait for the police? If I can't persuade Timmons to surrender, tell them we need a shooter. Someone who can take him out before he has a chance to move."
The fact that he was requesting that a person, even a bomber, be killed, was contrary to everything Superman had once stood for, and Clark felt bile rise, sourly, in his throat. But what choice did he have? He would try his level best to get Timmons to give up, but he wasn't about to sacrifice his wife and family, and all the rest of the people in the building for a man who had lost his respect for human life.
Superman had had other options: regrettably, Clark Kent did not. But he would do his best.
"OK," the guard replied without conviction. The man's expression was ambivalent, but he seemed to accept there was nothing else to be done. "Be careful. If that's a detonator that guy is holding, and he's as crazy as you say he is, you might not be given much time to talk."
"True. But do you have another idea?" Clark didn't wait for an answer. "Go on, and thanks for your help."
The guard shook his head, then shrugged. "Sorry, I couldn't do more," he said, making his way to the stairs, where he stopped, briefly. "By the way, my name is Ryan."
"You were with me, Ryan, and that was enough. Hopefully we'll get to renew our acquaintance later." Clark gave a tired grin, watching his new friend leave before hurrying to the left doorway. Going in from this angle, he hoped to have a clear line of sight to Thomas Timmons.
If all esle failed, he'd try to take Timmons down himself.
*****
Calm. Stay calm, Lois' inner voice reminded her as she stood on the edge of the raised platform which served as a stage in the TV studio, staring into the abyss. You've been in tight spots before! She inhaled deeply and tried her best to exhale slowly. But not when your daughter is in danger, she cautioned her courageous, take-no-prisoner-self.
All the more reason to stay alert and work your butt off to diffuse the situation. She regarded Timmons closely, evaluating whether he could be reasoned with. Unfortunately, her conclusion wasn't hopeful. Matt, I really could use some help about now.
Lois was weighing up whether to call for the super hero when a soft voice sounded in her head.
<He's in Switzerland!>
"Clark?" she gasped, so astounded she spoke his name aloud. Her heart raced as she waited, thundering in her ears, but no reply came back. Had she imagined her husband's voice?
"Kent?" Timmons spoke up instead. "Oh, he knows you're in danger, but I doubt he'll get here in time to save you. No one can," he sneered. "I sent him a sympathy card, just so he knows exactly how it feels to be helpless in the face of his wife's death."
"What are you saying?" Another voice came from the stage behind Lois, smooth as velvet, yet barely hiding a tremor. "Are you threatening all of us because you have a quarrel with Lois Lane? That is hardly fair. You should let us go free."
So much for support from her fellow panelists! Brad Nixon was a snake ... a slimey, gutless, soulless wonder.
"I don't know who you are, but I suggest you keep quiet," Timmons addressed the speaker. "The Daily Planet and Ms Lane-Kent might be my first priority, but I intend to cause a lot more heartache and chaos than a single death ..."
"No!" Lois shouted. "No, please. I understand you might have an axe to grind with me and my newspaper for sins of omission, perhaps, but the people in the audience are innocent. They've done you no wrong; couldn't you find it in your heart to let them go?"
Thomas' gaze scanned the rows of seated people, young and old, male and female, diverse races, and all of them fixated on him ... terrified. The power made him giddy.
Then his eyes settled on the youngest member of the viewers, a girl who was flanked by an older couple. She seemed to be the only child present. Mary had liked children ... there was a time when they'd hoped to have one of their own, but her illness had denied them that pleasure.
Why should this child's parents not experience his and Mary's disappointment? Yet, his long dormant conscious stirred, as Mary's warm-eyed smile was resurrected in his mind. For the first time, his resolve faltered.
"The girl," he said, flatly, pointing at Vicky. "The one over there."
Martha allowed Vicky to stand.
"You mean me?" Vicky asked, defiance deepening her youthful voice, while Lois prayed for her daughter not to argue.
"Do you mean she can go free?" Lois aked quickly, and much louder than she'd spoken before, hoping to prevent Vicky from revealing their connection.
There was deathly silence in the studio, everyone waiting for an answer. Only Vicky fidgeted, as her grandparents tried to keep her still, joining Lois in silently willing Vicky to say nothing.
Thomas thought. He'd bombed a school, yet none of the children had been hurt. There had been fatalities at Metro General, and a couple of those had been teenagers, he'd read that in the newspapers, but he'd never come face to face with a child victim before. This one was so pretty ... like Mary. She was a little distance from him, but he thought she had eyes the same color as his wife.
Perhaps he should be merciful. Mary would like that; she would thank him when he went to meet her.
At last, he spoke again. "What's your name?"
Immediately, Lois' heart sank and she stuck her hands behind her back to hide their shaking. Once Timmons learned Vicky's name, he'd never let her go.
"Victoria," the youngster stated, eyeing the stranger in the thick overcoat who was threatening to blow everyone up. Vicky wondered why he was still wearing his coat, when the studio was already too hot.
Her parents had told her this man was sick, and that's why he had tried to hurt the people in her school. It hadn't been a big bomb then. No one had died, but this time she was sure people were going to get killed, including her mother and her grandparents. Dad wasn't super anymore, and unless Matt knew what was happening, there was no escape.
The madman grinned when he heard her name. "Victoria," he repeated, sort of dreamily. "Mary would have chosen that name for our daughter ..."
Vicky had no idea what he was rambling on about, or why her mother was not shouting for Jor-El. There had to be a reason for Mom doing nothing, because Mom didn't usually take things lying down. Vicky had been expecting her mother to jump off the stage while the bomber was dreaming. But it would have to be a pretty big leap ...
Did that mean that her mother was scared of spooking the crazy man into setting off the bomb? Apart from her mother and that other sleazy guest, no one else had tried to help. Maybe because no one could ... except a super hero. Maybe she should get outside and call her Dad or Matt ... The bomber would never know.
Glancing over at her mother as she deliberated on her choices, Vicky saw Lois staring right back at her. Her mom was lifting her chin a little in the direction of the way out, and she could feel her Grandpa Jon's hands on her waist, gently edging her in the direction of the stairs.
"Mr Timmons?" Lois asked, keeping her voice cool and steady, but watching Vicky out of the corner of her eye. "Can Victoria go?"
Timmon's head snapped up as he turned to face The Daily Planet's editor. "You know my name?"
With a little shrug of her shoulders, Lois admitted, "My newspaper has been running the story since you first blew up the delivery van. Clark Kent put a face and a name to the murderer." She watched Timmons frown at the word murderer and reminded herself again to be careful, to do nothing rash; the guy was holding the detonator in his hands. "Since I'm sure there is only one bomber in the city, I'm assuming you are he."
"You and your husband are so smart," Timmons sniped, a jeer curling his lip, making him appear more sinister.
Lois wanted to snap back, but she resisted the temptation and explained reasonably, "Hard work, Mr Timmons, intelligence and dedication is what it takes to be a good investigative reporter." Actually, that wasn't the complete truth, but she felt Timmons would not appreciate hearing about Clark's other qualities, especially since the man seemed to lack basic human feelings.
"Ha! You did nothing to help my wife when I asked you, again and again."
"No, and I am sorry about that, but if I'm correct about the timing of your wife's illness, I was dealing with my own problems, and Clark didn't plan on getting kidnapped ..."
"You got him back! I lost my Mary," he cried, whining like a petulant child. "How can you know what it's like to have the only person you love taken from you?"
Lois knew only too well ... for four years she'd lived with that pain. Biting back a rebuke, she tried to remain sympathetic. After all, a woman had died, but Lois couldn't smother the uncharitable thought that Mary Timmons was in a better place. Yet, this man must have loved his wife very much, if he was willing to go on a rampage to avenge her.
There was something very wrong with that scenario. Remembering what Clark had discovered about Timmons' past, she realized this man had always been unstable. Whether it was due to his genetics, or his abusive childhood or both, he'd been a timebomb waiting to go off, and poor Mary's death had only been the catalyst.
A movement on her right drew Lois' attention. Vicky had edged her way along the row and reached the steps. No matter how she despised this man, her daughter's safety relied on her being able to negotiate with him. Lois cleared her throat, prayed for patience and began again.
"Mr Timmons, I know you won't believe me, but I am sorry for your loss. I just don't understand why you would want to kill so many people ..."
"You don't need to understand," Timmons cut in sharply.
Lois raised her hand in submission. "No, of course not. But from what you've just said, I'm sure Mary wouldn't want you to kill Victoria."
"Victoria?" Timmons frowned.
"Yes, the little girl." Lois nodded toward Vicky. "You mentioned Mary would like her to go free, but she's still here. Is she free to go?" she asked again, trying to disguise her eagerness.
There was a blank expression on Timmon's face as he followed Lane's line of sight, almost as if his spirit was already gone, but a spark of life kindled in his eyes as he saw the girl.
"Get out," he said softly, gazing at Victoria almost as if he could see his wife standing at her shoulder.
For a few moments, Vicky stayed frozen to the spot, watching her mother as she took advantage of Timmon's momentary distraction to quickly mouth the words I love you.
"Go!" Timmons repeated much louder and much harsher. His wife wasn't here. His wife was dead. "Now, before I change my mind."
Tears blurred Vicky's eyes as she stumbled up the stairs. She might never see her mother and grandparents again. She was so scared, but she was already forming her cry for help as hands dragged her through the door.
Familiar arms lifted her into a hug as a voice, caught on a sob, breathed into her hair. "Tory, princess, thank god!"
"Daddy, you're here." Vicky allowed herself to weep into her father's chest for a second or two, before pushing herself back. "We have to call for Ma ... for Jor-el," she quickly corrected herself when she spotted a man in uniform poised at the head of the main staircase.
"Sweetheart, the super hero is in Europe, there's coverage on the news. I'm not sure he could get here in time ..."
"Then we have to save Mom and Grandma Martha and Grandpa Jon," Vicky said breathlessly, as if she'd run far more than the short distance.
"I intend to, sweetie." He conjured up a smile for his princess. She might be smart and gutsy, but she was still a child. His and Lois' child. Their miracle. The proof that Earthlings and Kryptonians had become compatible.
"Is everything OK?" the security man asked.
Giving himself a mental shake, Clark answered quickly. "Yes. It's fine. Ryan, this is my daughter, Vicky. Please, look after her."
"Dad!"
Clark knelt in front of Vicky. "Tory, listen. I know you want to stay, but I'm going to have to concentrate on helping your mother and grandparents," he said, staring intently into her eyes. "And I can't do that if I have to worry about you getting hurt. Please, princess, go with Ryan. He'll make sure you get to somewhere safe." Vicky looked like she might argue, so he continued. "I'm sure you'll find Uncle Jim out there, and I want you to tell him what's happening, and ask him to try to get in touch with Matt. He'll know what to do." He pulled Vicky into another hug and whispered in her ear. "Tell him I don't dare waste my powers or my energy in contacting Matt telepathically." He held her away from him. "You understand?"
Without argument, Vicky nodded, kissing her father's cheek. "I love you, Daddy." She turned and ran to the guard who was holding out a hand to her. She glanced back one final time. "Bring Mom home safe."
"Don't worry. I'll take good care of her," Ryan said, before heading down the stairs. "Good luck, Clark."
A lump formed in Clark's throat watching Vicky go, but she, at least, was safe. He still had a job to do. Straightening his shoulders, he marched back to the door and slipped quietly inside, bending low, praying not to be noticed.
Yet he needn't have worried. Inside the soundproofed studio, a cacophony of sound had broken out as many members of the audience tried to explain why they too should be allowed to go free. The voices were brought to a sudden halt by a banshee like scream.
"No! Never!" Thomas Timmons had spoken. He raised his hands until they were almost touching. "Silence!"
"Thomas, wait."
Lois projected her voice but refrained from shouting, and at the sudden quiet, her words dropped like stones into a whirlpool, as people gasped in awe at Lois' nerve.
"Why?" Timmon's voice was devoid of inflection, but his hands stilled, leaving a gap of a few inches. "There's no way out for you, or any of these people."
From Clark' position at the top of the opposite staircase, he could see clear across the heads of the audience. Mainly because most of them had crouched low in their seats, seeking protection. Clark doubted that would save them, given the fact that Timmons' bombs had grown larger with each successive incident.
Narrowing his eyes, he could see wires hanging from the bomber's hands, snaking inside the edges of his open coat. The wires were probably connected to explosives and some kind of trigger, and all Timmons needed to do was touch the wires together to detonate the bomb.
If he could focus his heat vision and cut the wires he might prevent the explosives from going off. It would be tricky, because he had to make sure there wasn't enough wire left for Timmons to reconnect the trigger. In fact, if Timmons didn't know what had happened, he might have a few seconds to knock the guy out.
But he needed time.
Clark was about to stand to attract Timmon's attention when Lois spoke up once more.
"No, I don't expect to survive. Neither do you," Lois said evenly. "But I would have thought you wouldn't want to die without telling the public why you are doing this."
"I'm already on camera ..."
Lois gave the tiniest of grins as she let her eyes stray, momentarily, to the man who remained unnoticed at the back of the studio. She had known Clark would come. For the first time, she believed they stood a chance of getting out of this alive.
"Thomas, I hate to disappoint you," she continued, as if explaining to a child, "but the cameras aren't on. I believe that you're carrying enough explosive to kill everyone in here, so no one will be left to tell your story."
Thomas turned his head toward the nearest camera. "Is she right?" he asked, a twitch at the corner of his eye proving he was getting nervous.
The camera man shook his head and the show's host spoke up for the first time. "We never started filming."
"Ha! Very clever Ms Lane-Kent, but you said yourself that your husband knew all about me. I'm sure he'll tell my story ..."
"True! But Clark will tell it from his point of view. You'll go down in history as a mass murderer, a psychopath. Wouldn't you like to tell the world why you were driven to kill? Not many suicide bombers get that privilege."
"She's right," the host said, standing and walking forward. "I could interview you. Jake could film it and it would go out tonight on the evening news."
"You can film your own obituary," Lois added, watching as an eager glint flickered in Timmon's eyes.
"I'd be famous ..." Thomas whispered. "Everyone would know my name. That would sure show all those people who thought I'd never amount to anything."
"Exactly. Your story would probably be picked up all over the world," Lois said encouragingly, while inside she cringed. She'd known a lot of twisted people in her life, but Timmons might rank up there with the most extreme. "You could tell everyone how badly your Aunt Ina treated you."
The situation might be dire, but Clark couldn't help smiling in awe. His wife was an amazing woman and she was winning him the time he needed. He just hoped Timmons kept his hands in that position, where the wires were on display. He needn't have worried.
"OK. Lets do this," Timmons stated, having made his mind up, but his sly gaze once again scanned the auditorium and the panelists behind him. "But just in case anyone gets any bright ideas about jumping me, I'm gonna hold these wires just a fraction of an inch apart. If I see or hear anyone coming near me; if my hands shake, or even if I breathe funny, they'll touch ... and then POW! Everyone dies. Understand?" he concluded with a yell.
There were various noises of agreement and nodding of heads from the audience who seemed to sink lower into their seats, which suited Clark's purpose. He just hoped Lois wouldn't try any heroics, though he was pretty sure she expected him to have a plan. He'd managed to slide his way down a few more steps, but this was it ...
Clark stood, concentrating on heat, directing his laser vision to destroy both targets. His powers couldn't fail him now. Lois and his parents were relying on him. He reached deep within himself, focusing his gaze. A gossamer beam of red scintillated in the air, blinked infinitesimally, before flaring again ... and again.
Within seconds, a faint sizzling reached Clark's ears and a slight smell of smoldering wool aggravated his sensitive sense of smell. He'd severed the wires where they disappeared inside Timmon's jacket. He just hoped he hadn't set the coat alight. Setting Timmons on fire hadn't been his intention and could set off the bomb. To Clark's relief, the odor swiftly dissipated. He doubted anyone else would have even noticed the smell, except perhaps Lois, who had been waiting for him to diffuse the bomb.
The time for covert activity was over. Clark took a deep breath and called out.
"Stop the cameras." Almost as one, the gallery swung in his direction, as he took a few more steps toward the stage, purposely ignoring his wife. He couldn't risk Timmons' attention returning to Lois, not while there was still a chance the bomb had a backup trigger. "Please don't give this villain the publicity he craves."
Blanched faced and trembling with anger, Timmons stared at the person who had dared to confront him. "Kent! How the hell did you get here so fast?"
Clark forced himself down the final steps. As he passed his parent's row, he shot a sidelong glance their way. They were scared, but Martha managed a transitory smile. His nerve steadied and he sauntered on, answering calmly. "I borrowed a colleague's motor-bike. It's amazing how these things can cut through the traffic." Casually, he stuck both his hands into his pockets, desperately hoping Timmons couldn't see through his act. "Besides, the boy you hired had a baseball game to go to, so he delivered your message a little early." Clark also hated to lie, but he'd use every artifice available to prevent this tragedy. "And here I am."
Timmons thought for a moment before grinning evilly. "Well, why not? I wanted you to experience the pain I've suffered ... but killing you along with Lane is just as good. I guess if you're here, the police won't be far behind you."
"They're already here," Clark agreed. "I called them."
"So, thanks to you, I'll miss my moment of fame," Timmons spat resentfully, before shrugging. "What does it matter anyway. I'll be dead. Time has run out." He took one last look over the audience. "Say your goodbyes, everyone."
With a final flourish, Timmons closed his eyes in resignation as he clasped his hands together.
Nothing happened.
Seconds passed, seeming to stretch out forever. Timmons looked down to see both wires dangling uselessly from his hands. He opened his coat which seemed strangely charred. There were no wires, either, jutting out from under his shirt. His gaze continued downwards to see tiny pieces of cable littering the floor about his feet.
What the hell was wrong? Had his need to cut costs meant he'd used inferior materials? But this was the wire he'd used to blow up the hospital and all his other targets. Nothing had gone wrong before. Could his living on the streets in the cold and damp have altered the wire, made it somehow brittle?
He was totally confused, his heart pounding in panic. He had to get out of this place, find somewhere private where he could discover what had gone wrong and put it right. Today was his day to die.
But the noise in the studio was increasing ... menacingly. Members of the audience were slowly realizing they were still in the land of the living and might have a chance of remaining that way. They began to look threateningly at the guy who had given them the worst moments of their lives.
Clark sensed the change of mood and was afraid the situation could become ugly. He lifted his voice above the angry drone, hoping to take control. "Thomas, it looks like your bomb is a dud. You've failed." He edged closer to Timmons. "Perhaps you aren't meant to die. The police are right outside those doors. It's time to give yourself up."
Thomas glared at Kent. He had no intention of surrendering. After all, he still had the bomb strapped to his waist. He just had to find another way of detonating it.
The muttering around him drew his attention to the door. People were spilling out of the rows of seats onto the steps, blocking his path. Yet, not all were making for that door. From the look on some peoples' faces, there were clearly a few who were considering confronting him.
He had to escape ... fast. His gaze flitted around the darkened, deserted area at the back of the stage, alighting on an emergency exit in the corner. He had a clear route out.
Timmons was turning to run when he felt something crash into his back, sending him crashing to the ground. He lay there winded.
Clark's heart almost stopped as he'd watched his wife launch herself at Timmons. "Lois, no!" he shouted. "Don't touch him!" Lois obviously believed he'd disabled the explosives. If only he could be so sure. "The bomb is still live."
Lois scrambled off her knees and backed away from the man on the floor, as did the erstwhile braver members of the audience. At Clark's warning, their courage waned and they speedily reversed their direction, creating a pile-up at the top of the stairs as people scrabbled to get through the door.
Only one person in the studio was pleased at Kent's announcement. Timmons was so elated he didn't question how the reporter would know the bomb's condition for certain. He just read it as a sign that his mission was still possible. Picking himself up, he bolted for the exit.
Clark stopped to help Lois to her feet. "I have to go after him, honey. He might still find a way to explode the bomb."
"Clark, you can't," Lois said, dread settling in the pit of her stomach. "You're not invulnerable. Timmons is intent on killing himself and, right at this moment, I don't really care whether he succeeds or not. We should just concentrate on getting people out of here."
Resting his hands on her shoulders, Clark tried to speak evenly. "There might not be time. Lois, look at them." He gestured toward the scene of chaos. "In their panic, they've blocked the exits, and there's the rest of the building to consider."
Lois followed Clark's gaze, and couldn't disagree with his estimation. There were still some bemused members of the audience who were still in their seats; a few seemed to be searching for another, less busy exit, and one elderly lady had been knocked over in the rush.
"Honey, I cut the wires to the explosives, but Timmons could rig another detonator." Clark's voice sounded loud in Lois' ear. "I have to try to stop him."
Immediately, her attention swung back to Clark, her eyes wide. She tightened her grip on his arms. "But you said the police were here. Let them deal with Timmons."
Clark cleared his throat. "I might have exaggerated a bit. I told Jim to call the police, then used superspeed to get here ..."
"You flew?"
Clark blushed, shaking his head. "I ran. I'm sure the police will be here soon and the bomb squad, but until then, I'm the only one who can stop Timmons." He cupped Lois' cheek. "You know I have to try."
Tears sparkled on Lois' lashes. "Superman was never about the powers." She turned her head to press a kiss on Clark's palm, her heart aching. "Go. Get out of here. I love you."
Finding a smile, Clark replied, "I love you too, honey. But you'll stay here to help these people escape ... and get out, too?"
She couldn't trust herself to speak, she simply nodded. Clark pressed a kiss to her lips, before disappearing in a blur. For a couple of seconds, Lois stared at the place where her husband had been.
"Lois, what's happening?"
The worried voice sounded from close behind Lois and she turned to see her in-laws staring at her, concern clear in their expressions.
"Jonathan, Clark says the bomb is still live. He's gone to try to make it safe, but I don't know how super he is ..." Her voice died as she continued to nervously watch the exit used by Timmons and her husband. "He's afraid there could be an explosion while people are still in the building."
"What about the police?" Martha asked.
Lois shrugged. "They're on their way. They might even have arrived by now."
"But Clark's afraid there's no time for them to reach Timmons before he sets off the bomb," Martha concluded, knowing her son only too well.
"Yes! And he's alone and he's probably still vulnerable." Unconsciously, Lois had taken a couple of steps toward the back exit.
"Lois, where are you going?" Martha asked, taking hold of her daughter-in-law's arm.
"After Clark. Martha, please, don't try to stop me." Lois placed her hand on top of Martha's, squeezing gently, seeking understanding. "Whatever limited superpower he has is diminishing. He needs me."
Martha took a deep breath before replying. "Go ... go after him."
Lois wavered for only a heartbeat. "But I promised I wouldn't ..."
In the midst of her anxiety, Martha managed to grin. "And when did that ever stop you?" But she was already talking to Lois' back.
"Lois! I'm not sure that's a good idea." Jonathan called, as Lois disappeared through the exit.
"Hush, Jonathan. If Clark doesn't succeed, I'm sure we're all in big trouble, and Lois might just be able to help." With a look, Martha tried to ward off any further arguments from her husband. "Come on, Jonathan. We have to help with the evacuation."
Yet Jonathan still stared at the empty doorway. "Martha, Clark wants Lois safe."
"I'm certain Lois wanted that for Clark too," Martha explained with just a hint of impatience, "yet her husband, the one she thought she'd lost for four long years, is risking his life for the greater good, again ..."
"But Clark stands a better chance of surviving an explosion," Jonathan argued.
"We don't know that. He's been hurt any number of times in these past few weeks. He's most likely no safer than Lois." Martha touched Jonathan's face, in much the same way Clark had touched Lois moments before. "Jonathan, Lois and Clark are a team, stronger together than alone. Lois has as much right as Clark to risk everything to help the other."
Jonathan sighed, but nodded slowly. Martha was right. "I guess we should go do our part, then."
With fear, faith and pride in equal measures filling their hearts, the two older Kents went to do what they could.
*****
tbc ...
