From Part 5 ...
So – two possibilities.
Aliens had taken him.
Humans had taken him.
Given Clark’s powers, the former seemed most likely. Which filled her with piercing despair.
With a body-rattling sigh, Lois slipped from Clark’s bed and went to his kitchen to make herself a hot drink. Perhaps it would help her sleep. As she reached for the tea caddy, her arm brushed against her bag and it toppled, its contents strewn across the floor.
Lois scooped up her cell, keys, purse, notebook and pens and carelessly dumped them back in her bag. A small piece of paper remained on the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it. It read - in hand written, stilted block letters – PERSONAL CLASSIFIEDS FISHING ADVICE.
Part 6
Lois flipped the piece of paper – the other side was blank.
She’d never seen it before.
Where had it come from?
How had it got into her bag?
And was there any possible way it could have something to do with Clark’s disappearance?
Lois scrambled to the pile of recent newspapers stashed tidily under Clark’s kitchen bench. She pulled out Friday’s edition of the Daily Planet, turned to the Classified Advertisements and found the Personals.
As usual, the largest section was ‘Women Seeking Men’, and the vast majority of those were women propositioning Superman. At the end of the column was the heading ‘MISCELLANEOUS’ – and under that, two notices – a birthday greeting for a pet python and then -
‘Fishing advice – brown trout bait – bugs.’
She made the tea, her mind whirling. The note was in *her* bag. Was it meant for her?
If so, how did it get there?
The pseudo-mugging on Friday?
Lois was confident whoever had forced her into the alley had taken nothing from her bag. But had he put something *into* her bag?
The note?
But why did she need fishing advice?
Bugs.
Bugs.
Could *she* be bugged?
Her cell? Her desk phone? Her computer?
Did that make her the bait?
For what?
With a frustrated groan, Lois slumped onto the table.
More questions.
No answers, just more questions.
She picked up the newspaper and read the notice again.
Could it be a warning?
From whom?
Was it a lead? A lead that could, maybe, take her to Clark?
Lois sipped her tea, deep in thought.
If the note had anything to do with Clark ... this was not an alien abduction.
Lois felt the slightest unravelling of her rigidly knotted muscles. Humans ... whoever they were, whatever they had ... could be dealt with ... more so than aliens.
Bugs.
She didn’t know a whole lot about surveillance devices, other than suspecting it was an ever-advancing field of technology ... but she really needed to consider the possibilities carefully.
For now, she would assume her and Clark’s computers were monitored. She would assume conversations on her home, desk and cell phone were not private.
Was she being tracked?
Did they always know her whereabouts?
Worse, much worse, did they have a listening device somewhere on her body that meant they could hear everything she said?
And were there cameras?
Her instinct was to research ... and she needed to check Monday’s Classifieds. But she couldn’t do either – not on Clark’s computer.
Lois glanced to the clock. It was half past three. A copy of yesterday’s Planet had been delivered to her apartment, but she had barely glanced at it as she had waited for Clark to take her to breakfast.
She certainly hadn’t read the Classifieds.
Lois folded Friday’s edition of the Planet and carefully placed all the papers back in the correct order, latest last.
Then she took the note and, behind the closed bathroom door, ripped it into four pieces and flushed it. In Clark’s bedroom, she hesitated long enough to make his bed and put his journal in her bag.
It was her lifeline to the man she loved and she was not going to risk losing it.
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In her own apartment, Lois collected a few recent copies of the Daily Planet and went to her bathroom. It was possible there was a hidden camera in her living area.
It was also possible there was a hidden camera in her bathroom, but it was less likely. She hoped.
She sat on the cold tiles and leant against the shower door. She opened yesterday’s morning edition at the Classifieds and found the Personal notices. More offers for Superman, but no ‘Miscellaneous’ heading. No fishing advice.
She did the same with the evening edition – nothing.
She backtracked and read every single Personal notice in both editions. Her stomach churned at the repugnant blatancy of some of the suggestions to Superman. How could women be so forward? Didn’t they know him at all?
But there was no fishing advice. Nothing that could possibly be construed as pertaining to her - admittedly vague - specifications.
Lois leant back against the shower and stared unseeingly ahead. What now?
She needed another direction for her lead.
Fishing.
She had been fishing exactly twice in her life – once with Uncle Mike when she was nine years old and once with Jonathan and Clark on the Saturday of her first weekend in Smallville.
She had gone with Clark and Jonathan because –
Lois straightened abruptly ... because Franklin Hodge had told her he was in Smallville to fish for brown trout in Smallville Lake. *Brown trout* – the fish in the notice.
Hodge *hadn’t* been there to fish – he’d been in Smallville to meet with the Sewells, the scientists claiming they had found a spaceship and they had evidence there had been an alien baby in it and were offering the government their silence for the sum of one million dollars.
Lois’s heart hammered as her investigative instinct roared to life.
There were links – Clark, Superman, the spaceship, Franklin Hodge, Smallville, fishing, the note in her bag and the notice in the paper.
Was Hodge the one who’d hauled her into the alley on Friday? She didn’t think so. Hodge was taller and broader than her assailant.
But that didn’t mean Hodge hadn’t arranged for the note to be put into her bag.
Was Franklin Hodge trying to warn her about being bugged? Was he friend or foe? And even if she knew she was being bugged, how did that help in finding Clark?
Lois glanced at her watch. It was past four-thirty. If she showered and dressed, she would be at the Planet about five-thirty. Maybe there would be more information in today’s Classifieds.
She turned on the faucets and undressed – her outer clothes first, then Clark’s shorts and tee. She checked the temperature of the water with her hand, then stopped, as her mind whirled.
Franklin Hodge.
Wrapping herself in a towel, Lois crept into her living room. In the dim light emanating from the bathroom, she opened the drawer of her bureau and grabbed a handful of the condolence cards she had received following the deaths of her parents.
Back in the bathroom, now hot and steamy from the still-running water, Lois shuffled through the cards until she came to the one from Hodge.
She looked at the front.
A *lake*. Was it meant to represent Smallville Lake?
Duelling emotions seared through her body. If the card was a hint for the fishing notice, this had been planned weeks ago ... but it also meant she was *finally* on a path that may ... possibly ... take her to Clark.
Lois did a quick calculation in her head. Hodge had given her this card more than five weeks ago. If he’d known then ...
What if she’d ... they’d ... been watched, bugged, followed ... for five weeks?
Trepidation shivered the length of her body. Had she or Clark said anything, done anything to give away Clark’s secret? Had they, thinking they were alone, inadvertently said something that had somehow contributed to Clark’s disappearance?
Lois swallowed down the sick feeling rising inside her. She opened Hodge’s card and read the verse.
Kindly thoughts come to you
In these so-difficult days
Love surrounds you as you grieve
Loved ones’ memories shine like ray
Shared joys, the best of times too
May they bring deep comfort to you
It was signed ‘from Hodge’.
Lois closed her eyes and transported herself back to the conference room at the Planet. She pictured Hodge – hair short, right arm still in the cast – and the third person, the unidentified watchman, who was there to ensure Hodge said nothing untoward.
Lois tried to picture the unknown person. Late thirties, she remembered, maybe older, dirt brown hair, swept back, accentuating the central peak of his hairline, a face tending towards jowls and intense eyes.
She had been feeling nervous, she remembered. It was supposed to be a big interview, but she wasn’t prepared ... knew she wasn’t prepared ... because she was still raw from her parents’ deaths and shaken from Clark’s revelation and broken because he’d left her.
But Hodge had also seemed nervous. At the start, she’d asked him what she should call him and he’d replied ‘Franklin’. Yet he’d signed the card, ‘Hodge’. Coincidence? Was he trying to tell her this wasn’t just a card?
She focussed on the exact moment he’d given her the card. The third person had scrutinised it, but she’d had the impression Hodge had been expecting that. Hodge had said something ... what was it? Something like ... the verse was cleverly written and because she was a writer, she’d be good with words.
Lois read the verse again.
It wasn’t great poetry, that was for sure. She read the words again – hunting for a hidden message.
Was ‘so-difficult days’ a reference to Clark missing?
Could ‘loved ones’ memories’ mean Clark was dead?
The volcano of dread threatened to erupt again, but she smothered it. Clark was invulnerable.
And anyway, it was plural – loved ones - so Hodge must have had the card made specially – sympathy cards usually assumed the death of a single loved one.
There was even a typo in it. Surely, the last word of the fourth line should be rays, to rhyme with days. And memories, plural, should shine like rays, plural.
But was it really a mistake?
Lois skimmed the right hand side of the verse, noting the final letters – useyou.
Use you?
Use her?
For what?
She glanced to the starting letters of each line – killsm.
Kills m.
Who was m?
Then icy comprehension froze her heart.
Kill SM.
Superman.
They were trying to kill Superman and intended to use her.
So ... most likely ... Clark *had* been captured.
But as Clark? Or as Superman? Had they come to Clark’s apartment knowing he was Superman?
Had they somehow managed to render him unconscious, knowing they would need – and being armed with - something beyond normal?
And if they had Superman, how did they plan to kill him? *Could* they kill him?
Lois firmly pushed away her creeping fear. She had to believe Clark was OK. Would be OK. But she was possibly the only person – other than whoever had Clark – who knew Clark was captured, so she had to be the one to help him.
And to do that, she had to think clearly.
Lois shook her head, calming the thousand ideas weaving frantically through her brain cells.
She needed to contact Hodge. But how? He’d told her his real name when she’d visited him in hospital – Luke ... Lois closed her eyes and tried to picture his name above his bed. Luke .... Allen.
Could she access the hospital records to find his address? His phone number? They wouldn’t just hand her the information, of course, but that hadn’t deterred her in the past.
She would need to be careful - if she was being followed, she couldn’t let them know she had contact with Hodge. He had gone to elaborate efforts to hide his communication with her.
Assuming Hodge was actually on her side.
Lois dropped the towel from her body and stepped into the shower, automatically washing her hair as her mind feverishly worked to find clarity in the ever-deepening labyrinth.
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Lois dressed in clothes from the back of her closet – clothes she had not expected to wear again. She also pulled out her coat from four winters past. She found an old bag and another purse and transferred the bare necessities from her usual bag.
She deliberated over her cell – it was the only one she had. What if Clark tried to call her? But if he did and their conversation was overheard ... With a sigh, Lois decided her cell needed to stay in her apartment.
She removed her earrings and necklace and tossed them onto her dressing table. She looked at her engagement ring, blinking away her gathering tears. Could they possibly have hidden a tracking device or bug in it?
She didn’t know.
Sadly, she took a new tube of toothpaste from its box, dropped her ring into the box, then replaced the tube.
She would wear her ring again soon, she promised herself.
When Clark put it back where it belonged.
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Outside her apartment, Lois hailed a cab and positioned herself in the backseat so she could observe the driver’s mirrors. It didn’t seem as if anyone was following her. No one obvious anyway.
She arrived at the Planet as the morning edition hit the newsstands. She picked up a copy and took it to her desk.
With straining impatience, she worked through the paper, pretending interest. Finally, she reached the Classified section. Her eyes shot to the Personals column, found the ‘Miscellaneous’ heading and there it was.
‘Fishing Advice – Look for clownfish, halfmoon, ponyfish, pirate perch, nurse shark. Conceal bait.’
She had to stay hidden – that bit was simple ... but the rest?
The rest made no sense at all.
Lois was sure now that somebody ... maybe Hodge ... was trying to communicate with her.
But what was he trying to say?
And could she trust Hodge?
What if, in some way she couldn’t yet comprehend, he was using her to bring about Superman’s downfall?
Lois put on her out-dated coat and headed to the Metropolis Hospital.
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“Patients’ records are confidential,” the efficient-looking nurse informed Lois.
“Yes, but I visited my friend, Luke Allen, on September 1st,” Lois said, not needing to fake desperation. “He gave me his number and asked me to keep in touch, but I lost it so now he probably thinks I’m not interested.”
The nurse stared at Lois as if enquiring how this involved her.
“So, if you could just give me his number,” Lois said, “I can call him. I have no other way to contact him.”
The nurse didn’t respond.
“He was in room fifteen,” Lois said. “I visited him on the Sunday afternoon.”
“Why has it taken you over two months to decide to contact him?”
Lois thought quickly. “I needed to end another relationship and work out my feelings. I know how I feel now and I really want to contact Luke.”
The nurse’s face seemed to unbend ... just a little. She slid the mouse over the pad and clicked a few times, her eyes on the monitor. Lois longed to lean forward to get a view of the screen, but she restrained herself.
“Luke had a broken right arm,” Lois added, as if that might be helpful.
“September 1st?” the nurse asked.
Lois nodded, trying to control her impatience.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Room fifteen was empty on September 1st,” the nurse said.
“No, it wasn’t empty,” Lois insisted. “Luke was in there, Luke Allen. I visited him.”
The nurse twisted the monitor so Lois could see. Room fifteen was ‘unoccupied’.
“Could you please check the day before?” Lois begged. “And the day after.”
The nurse clicked on the mouse. The records said room fifteen had been unoccupied from August 29th through September 3rd.
Lois felt her shoulders slump. Of course. She already knew Hodge could manipulate hospital records. She had used that very fact to obtain a birth certificate for Clark.
She should have expected there would be no record of his admission.
The nurse regarded her with something approaching sympathy. “Are you sure you have the right ward?” she asked.
Lois nodded. “Thanks,” she said and walked away.
Minutes later, Lois left the hospital via its front entrance and walked along the pavement next the neighbouring park. Usually, it was empty other than a few mothers with their small children. Today, however, it was a bustle of activity as a circus troupe set up their big top and settled in their animals.
Lois passed with barely a glance in their direction.
Clark had been missing for over twenty-four hours.
She had no lead other than today’s cryptic message in the Classifieds.
She had no way of contacting Hodge.
She needed coffee.
The street was mostly stark office blocks with not the slightest indication that decent coffee may be available. Lois sighed and turned back to the hospital.
She found the café on the ground floor and bought a morning edition of the Daily Planet and a latte. In a deserted corner, she sipped the not-completely-undrinkable coffee and nonchalantly browsed through the paper.
Her glass was half empty when Lois arrived at the Classifieds. Her eyes went directly to the notice.
She read it again. ‘Fishing Advice – Look for clownfish, halfmoon, ponyfish, pirate perch, nurse shark. Conceal bait.’
Clownfish? Clowns? She had just walked past a circus.
Was Clark being held at the circus? She doubted it. That just opened a hundred more questions. Chiefly - why didn’t he just escape?
She read the notice again. Nurse – could that mean Clark was sick? Or injured? That he needed a nurse?
Clark couldn’t be either, of course, but he couldn’t be held against his will for over a day, so things she’d believed weren’t possible, clearly were.
If they’d tried to hurt him, how long would it take for them to realise he was no ordinary human? Was there any way for Clark to hurt himself? Maybe heat vision? Could he make himself bleed?
He would do it, she realised, as the acrid taste of horror clawed up her throat. If it meant protecting her, or his parents, or the secret.
It added another vile image to the already overloaded compilation in her head.
Lois forced her concentration back to the notice. It made no sense. There was only so much that could be relayed through obscure notices about fishing. She needed to talk with Hodge ... or whoever.
She considered enquiring at the Planet as to who had placed the notices. But if Hodge could wipe hospital records, she doubted he would have any problems placing a classified ad anonymously.
So she *had* to talk with him.
Somehow.
Then her mind sizzled with connection. What if this notice was about a meeting?
Clowns ... then halfmoon. If the circus was ‘where’ could the halfmoon be ‘when’? Lois pulled her diary from her bag. Tomorrow was the half moon, she realised with a jolt of adrenalin. Maybe, just maybe, she was making some progress.
The ponyfish? Had there been a carousel? No ... but the circus had animals. She remembered elephants and dogs. Perhaps there were ponies.
So was she to meet … someone … Hodge possibly... at the circus tomorrow, near the pony enclosure?
Which left the pirate and the nurse.
Pirates steal … which was apt, because someone had stolen Clark from her. But pirates worked in the ocean. Was it possible she was meant to meet someone at a port? Hobb’s Bay?
Lois looked up as a group of three nurses settled at the table closest to hers. They were identifiably nurses because they were all dressed the same – navy blue pants and a blouse of blue with a geometric pattern of alternating red and white diamonds.
The notice had said the bait must be concealed. Was she meant to come as a nurse ... and meet a pirate?
Lois drained her latte and deliberately folded the paper and left it on the table. If someone was watching her, she didn’t want it looking like the paper was relevant.
She walked past the still-buzzing circus. A quick glance to the notice board told her the opening performance was scheduled for two o’clock tomorrow afternoon.
Lois continued walking, her attention carefully diverted from the circus.
Should she come back tomorrow?
Would she just be walking into an elaborate trap? She realised she didn’t care. If this was the only way to get to Clark – so be it. It would be worth it to know he was safe. And together, they could deal with anything.
But what if she led someone to their meeting and blew Hodge’s cover?
Lois walked back to the Planet, her mind afire with a hundred ideas and two hundred counter ideas.
But this was better … this was infinitely more bearable than knowing nothing.
She had a lead … and it would lead her to Clark. She had to believe that.
She would find him …. if she had to scour every inch of this city … this nation …. this entire planet, she *would* find him.
