Chapter Five
I stood back against the wall and watched the police process the scene. Despite the grim circumstances, it was a pleasure to watch Lois work over Detective Inspector Bill Henderson. The two of them obviously had some kind of history, even though Lois was intent on challenging everything Henderson said about Platt’s death.
“Suicide? Are you nuts, Henderson? No way!”
The policeman walked around her to look at Platt’s body still sitting in the chair. “He’s tried it before, Lane. No sign of forced entry, no sign of a struggle, nobody saw anyone come in or out of this dump – “
“But we were on the verge of proving that his theory – that something he was working on was right and there’s just no way that – “
An older uniformed officer turned his back on Lois and walked in my direction, saying, “Hey, if the man’s gonna barbeque himself he oughta use sauce.”
I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have stayed in the background. I should have remained an observer, not a participant. But before I could stop myself, I stepped forward and faced the uniformed cop and said, “The man’s name was Samuel Platt.” I was so mad that I barely kept my fingers from poking through the cop’s chest. “He was a brilliant scientist, someone who cared about other people. Under the circumstances, I don’t believe that kind of humor is appropriate.”
It must have shaken the cop a little. He stuttered an apology and moved around me without touching me.
Lois stepped closer and asked, “You okay?”
I wasn’t okay. Platt was dead and I couldn’t escape the feeling that we could have – that I could have prevented it somehow. “We should have known. We should have protected him.”
“How, Clark? What should we have done different?”
I knew I was upset and not thinking clearly. “I don’t know. But we should have done something.”
She touched my elbow softly, and I was surprised to feel some comfort in her gesture. “Look, I understand how you feel – really, I do – but all we can do now is try to prove him right.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s five-thirty now. Why don’t you try to get some sleep? I’ll come by for you about nine.”
I nodded. “Okay. Nine it is.”
“Do you want me to drop you off?”
She needed sleep more than I did, and going that far out of her way to take me back to my roach trap wouldn’t help her a bit. “No, that’s okay. I’ll get one of these sensitive officers to give me a ride home.”
She smiled and patted my shoulder. “Don’t worry, Clark. We’ll find out who did this and we’ll make sure justice is done.”
I looked into her flashing eyes and believed every word she was saying. I nodded and said, “I’ll see you later.”
*****
The dream came back to haunt me again.
It began the same way every time. The sun was low on the horizon and the town was settling down for a lazy summer evening. I was locking the front door to the Smallville Post when the police car screamed past me and slid to a stop outside the town’s only bank. I pulled down my glasses and looked inside the bank building and saw three very frightened gunmen holding two people hostage. One of them was Maisie Reynolds, the lady who ran the diner just three blocks down from the bank. She’d probably been dropping off her daily cash deposit.
The other hostage was Rachel Harris, the girl to whom I was engaged.
I’d taken Rachel to my senior prom when Lana had backed out at the last minute, and we’d gotten along way better than I’d expected. I even ended up having a good time, so we kept on dating off and on that summer. When we both enrolled at Kansas State, me working on a journalism degree and Rachel on law enforcement, we just got closer and closer.
Sometimes I’d felt guilty because I’d always sensed that she was more serious about me than I was about her, but I never thought that was a real reason for us to stop dating. There wasn’t another girl in town or on campus who I wanted to be with, not after Lana had gotten married before the summer was over, and Rachel had always insisted that she never wanted to date anyone else. Eventually the entire town decided that we were meant for each other, that we’d get married after we graduated, and that we’d both work in Smallville. Rachel would become a sheriff’s deputy and work with her father, and I’d be available to work part-time on my parents’ farm in between the few days I needed to spend at the Smallville Post.
And it seemed to work out just like that. Mike Evans, the Post’s senior editor, decided to retire and hired me to replace him. The county hired Rachel and she aced the state courses and started patrolling with her dad.
Life was – not good, really, just not bad. We spent most of our free time together, and she’d helped me a lot when my father had had his last heart attack in the spring of our junior year. She’d helped Mom put the funeral together and had sat up with both of us and had let both of us cry on her shoulders. And she’d let some of her schoolwork slide so she could help me keep up with my own classes. She’d even asked her dad for a couple of suggestions when Mom decided to lease out the farm land instead of trying to work it on her own.
She was just such a good person and such an integral part of my life that I couldn’t imagine not having her around. There was a real comfort level in loving Rachel and letting her love me. I finally felt like I was part of the community, that people no longer cared that I’d been adopted, that no one cared that I was supposed to have been an illegitimate child. Rachel loved me no matter where she thought I’d come from.
The dream always skipped all that and went right to the hard part.
Just like it had happened in real life, I turned around and ran as fast as I could without arousing suspicion down the nearby alley to the back door of the bank. I peered in and saw the policeman outside with his pistol drawn, yelling at the gunmen to surrender.
Sometimes the details varied from the way it actually went down. This time, I silently opened the back door and slipped inside, making sure no one saw or heard me. I worked my way toward the front of the bank as quietly as I could. I reached out for the legs of the nearest gunman to yank him to the floor and –
And the officer outside the bank opened fire, I never learned why. Maybe he thought the gunman he could see was about to shoot one of the hostages and he didn’t know about the other two. Maybe he just panicked. But ultimately it didn’t matter why it happened, just what happened.
The first gunman fell to the floor without a sound, I swept the feet out from under the man in front of me and knocked him out, and the third man pulled the trigger on his AK-47 and sprayed the lobby with bullets. He was scared and hopped up on PCP and he was a lousy shot. Out of a thirty-round magazine, only two rounds hit any target.
Those two bullets hit Rachel, one in her back and the other in her right lower leg. The doctors saved her life, but her permanent injuries ensured that she would never be able to be a police officer again. Her lifelong dream was gone in a second.
I visited her in the hospital and at home, but it was never the same between us. She pulled away from me both physically and emotionally, and we drifted apart despite my best efforts to keep us together. She insisted that it was her fault, not mine, that we’d never be together. She told me that I’d be famous one day, that I’d accomplish great things, and she refused to let me chain myself to a crippled wife who’d just hold me back. And that it wasn’t my fault that we couldn’t be together, nor was it my fault that she wasn’t a whole woman any more.
But it was my fault. And I knew it, even if she didn’t. If I’d used my powers openly, I could have disarmed and captured all three gunmen in less than a second. No one would have gotten hurt. My father’s mantra not to reveal my special talents and be dissected like a frog in a lab rang hollow, like a brass bell in a huge cathedral which had never known a human presence. It should have ended differently, no matter what secrets I might have revealed. Rachel’s injuries were my responsibility, my fault, and I’d left town and run all over the world trying to outdistance my guilt and shame.
But I couldn’t outrun the dream no matter how far I went or how often I moved. I’d called my mother at least twice every week since then, and I’d flown back to the farm several times for the occasional dinner and several short visits, but I’d never spent the night and I’d never gone into town. I’d never returned to the scene of my greatest failure.
I just couldn’t face the people I’d failed.
I woke up in a cold sweat and fell from the ceiling to the floor. As I sat there trying to slow down my breathing, I decided I needed to call my mom. We hadn’t spoken for a few days and I needed to hear her voice. I just hoped she wasn’t already in her studio, working on yet another piece for her upcoming Metropolis show. I needed for her to tell me once more that I really wasn’t guilty of Rachel’s disability. She always managed to talk me down from the ledge.
I took a deep breath and decided to call her just as soon as I took a shower. I didn’t perspire often, but when I did, for some reason I smelled just plain awful.
*****
Later that morning, as Lois drove toward Clark’s hotel, she thought about her new partner and the surprising compassion he’d displayed at Platt’s death. He’d tried to protect her from both the danger and the sight of the dead man. Then he’d gone all Mother Teresa on the cop who’d made the crack about the barbeque sauce. To top it all off, he’d blamed himself for Platt’s death, even though Lois knew that there really hadn’t been anything else they could have done. The only other course of action open to them would have been to take Platt into what would have amounted to protective custody, and it was unlikely that he would have agreed to that, especially given his state of mind.
No, Platt’s murder – she ignored Bill Henderson’s idiotic determination of suicide, this was murder and she was determined to prove it – wasn’t Clark’s fault. But his sense of responsibility was endearing. He hadn’t been putting on a show for her or for anyone else. If he’d been the only person there, he would have felt the same way about the situation. She had to help Clark see that it wasn’t his fault.
Maybe it would help if she really believed it wasn’t her fault either.
Never mind. She had to put it behind her. Remember the three rules and don’t get involved with your stories. Be objective, be above the fray. It was important business, but ultimately it was just business.
Yeah, right. That little speech didn’t work any better this time than it had at any other time.
She rolled to a stop in front of the hotel. Clark really needed a better place to live, she thought, and maybe when this EPRAD story was put to be she could help him find one. This hotel would have to be completely renovated to qualify as a dump.
She found his room without falling through the floor or stepping in anything that smelled too bad. Her watch read two minutes after nine. Farm boy had better be ready to go.
She heard him talking after she knocked on the door, and then it sounded like he hung up a pay phone. Pay phones in the rooms? Unbelievable. He really had to find a better place.
The door swung open and she saw the most beautiful sight she’d seen in – in probably forever. Adonis, wearing glasses and a towel around his waist, stood in the doorway, barefoot and dripping water. His chiseled shoulders and arms and rock-hard abs slapped her into breathlessness.
Then she looked at the vision’s face. Clark. It was Clark Kent standing –
Clark Kent looked like that?
There were professional bodybuilders who couldn’t hold a candle to Clark. There were professional athletes who’d kill to have a body that looked like his. For that matter, there were actresses who’d kill to be seen in public with a man who looked like that.
And she was standing right in front of him. Speechless. Running out of oxygen.
Idiot! she berated herself. Say something! Preferably before you faint!
“I said nine I thought you’d be naked – errrmmphh, ready!”
Oh, that was just brilliant, she thought. Make him think you’re really an oversexed airhead with nymphomaniac tendencies!
A smile flickered on his face and then vanished. “I was on the phone with my mother,” he explained. “I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”
He walked to the bathroom and gave her a good look at his sculpted back as it dipped in a perfect V-shape toward his waist and – and whatever was underneath that stupid towel.
The bathroom door closed behind him and Lois took off her jacket. For some reason the room seemed overly warm. Maybe he should talk to the manager about the heating problem. As if it would do any good in this vertical landfill.
Water. She needed a drink of cool water. That would take care of her rising temperature.
She shut the front door behind her and opened a cabinet to look for a glass – what decent place has the kitchen stuff in the front room? – and found shelves crammed full of junk food.
Chocolate bars. Twinkies – weren’t they supposed to last longer than any other food except honey, able to survive a nuclear war? Ho-Hos. Cookies of all shapes and kinds. Two jars of peanut butter, one crunchy and one creamy. Several varieties of chips, none of them the marginally healthy kind.
It was a fantasy snack cabinet for any kid. What was up with Clark, anyway?
She shook her head and closed the cabinet, then found a glass on the counter that didn’t look too dirty. She opened the refrigerator to look for something cold to drink.
It was crammed with soft drinks and more junk food. Chocolate milk. Shasta soda, which Lois hadn’t seen in Metropolis for years and had never bought because it tasted like battery acid to her. Candy bars. Jars of salsa. Several kinds of chip dip. Packages of store-bought donuts. The only thing marginally healthy on the shelves was a half-empty gallon jug of orange juice.
Surely he didn’t eat all that stuff? Or at least not all the time! He couldn’t, not if he really looked like every woman’s dream date.
She pushed the refrigerator door shut and shook her head. Yet another mystery involving her new partner.
Partner?
Yes. Partner. She realized she no longer thought of him as some doofus from Kansas she had to drag around with her. He didn’t know the city that well yet, he hadn’t had the chance to develop any sources in the police force or in the shadow world between the honest citizens and the career criminals, but his heart was in the right place and he was steady as a mountain. She trusted him, and her trust wasn’t given quickly or easily.
The bathroom door shut and she spun around with a surprised gasp, hoping he was fully dressed while simultaneously hoping he’d forgotten some article of clothing in the front room and had also forgotten she was there and had dropped his towel –
But his hair was combed and dry. His light brown suit, set off by a sky blue shirt and patterned tie, fit him like a second skin. Even his blocky glasses seemed to suit him. She caught her breath and stared.
He frowned slightly, then glanced down as if checking to make sure his fly was closed, then looked up at her with a quizzical expression. She took a breath and forced out, “Well – we’d better get going.”
They both moved toward the door, but Lois stopped and spun to face him. “So – explain something to me. You eat like an eight-year-old and you look like Mr. Hardbody. What’s your secret? And – can I have it?”
He stared at her as if thunderstruck. He obviously wasn’t going to answer, so she sighed and opened the door, trusting him to follow. It was just as well. The walk to the Jeep gave her a chance to get her breathing under control.
It had been months since she’d reacted to any man in any way, much less the way she’d reacted to the sight of Clark Kent with no shirt on – and wearing little else. She’d have to watch herself around him. It would be too easy to fall into those muscular arms and give herself up to a moment of passion with him.
And it would be a disaster if she did. She was still in love with a dead man, and she wasn’t ready to stop missing him. She wasn’t ready to be a woman by herself again. She didn’t know when she’d be ready for another relationship, or even if she’d ever be ready for another relationship. Claude was gone and she was still here and for a moment she hated him for not being there with her, for not giving her the support she needed, for not putting his arms around her to chase away her fears.
But it wasn’t fair to blame him. Claude hadn’t gone to the Congo to die. He’d been chasing a story, one that they’d worked on together, one on which they’d planned to share the byline when he returned with the information they needed to identify the head of the gun-running organization in New Troy. Lois had built one side of the story, Claude the other side, and all that had been necessary at that point was to go to the smugglers’ destination and find out who was running the show.
They’d argued. Lois had wanted to go, but Claude had finally convinced her that he could maintain a lower profile as a French national than she could as an American tourist. She’d reluctantly agreed that he had a better chance to get the information they’d needed and get out in one piece. His love for her and concern for her safety had swayed her judgment, and he’d gone in her stead.
And he’d never returned.
The memory of their last moments together slammed against her heart like a tsunami and she relived that morning once more.
*****
She woke up early that morning, knowing that Claude was leaving at noon to catch his flight to Africa. Perry had given her the day off, and she was determined to make the most of it.
She came back from the bathroom and slipped into bed with him. As she lay her head on his chest, his long arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Welcome back, cherie,” he grunted. “It is so much a wonderful way to greet the day with such a beautiful woman in my arms.”
She chuckled. “I love the way you tell me, darling. By the way, you don’t speak French, do you?”
They both laughed at the old joke, still funny even after all these months. “Actually, I do have a passing acquaintance with that language.”
She kissed him gently beside his mouth. “In that case, I can expect to hear you speak to me in the most romantic terms ever.”
He rolled toward her and ran his hand down her side. He knew what that touch did to her, especially since she’d told him often enough.
His hand stopped just below the t-shirt she’d just put on. “Cherie,” he murmured in her ear, “you seem to have misplaced a part of your sleeping garment.”
She grinned and slowly shifted his hand a little lower on her bare backside. “Yes,” she breathed back, “I suppose I have. Of course, since you’re such a gentleman, you wouldn’t take advantage of me when I’m in this very exposed condition, would you?”
He pulled her against his body and kissed her until they both nearly passed out. “Yes, my beautiful love,” he panted, “I would indeed take every advantage of it.”
With her last coherent thought, Lois answered, “I was hoping you would.”
*****
They’d lost themselves in each other that morning. When the alarm clock had finally gone off at nine-thirty, Claude had apologized to her repeatedly as he dressed and called for a cab. Lois, in a last-ditch passive-aggressive effort to keep him from leaving, hadn’t gotten dressed. She’d made him coffee and toast and helped him finish packing while wearing only that cotton t-shirt as her top, and even though she’d known she’d been torturing him she hadn’t passed up a single chance to kiss him or caress him or lean against him. Something deep inside her desperately had wanted him to stay. That part of her had been unreasonably terrified that she’d never see him again.
And she hadn’t. And her world had nearly been destroyed.
Just as the world around her now no longer existed. Her personal pain was threatening to push her over the edge of reality. She knew she’d lost her sense of balance and she steeled herself to hit the concrete sidewalk.
But she didn’t fall. Someone was standing in front of her, holding her upright. Someone was talking to her, even though she couldn’t make out the words. Someone was keeping her from pitching over that precipice.
It was Clark. Yes! Clark. She snatched at his upper arms as if lunging for a lifeline in a stormy sea. She plunged her head into his rock-hard chest once again, this time trying to remain in contact with the world around her.
That memory wasn’t supposed to come up during the day. That memory was too private, too personal, too raw and devastating to share with anyone. She’d never told anyone about that last morning, not her mother or her therapist or her best friend.
But somehow she thought she could tell Clark. She needed to tell Clark. She had to tell him something. She had to explain why she’d just dissolved into a puddle of tears in the middle of the sidewalk and all but fainted dead away.
Her breathing slowed and she got her feet under her. Clark’s grip on her arms slackened and she stood by herself, with only one hand on his arm to maintain her balance.
“Lois?” he asked. “Are you okay now?” She nodded twice. “Should I call someone? Cat, maybe?”
“N-no. I – I’m okay now.” She sniffed and wiped her nose with her hand. “Thank you.”
He nodded and slowly stepped back. “Do you want to tell me what just happened?”
Terror at the thought of actually voicing her agony gripped her and she turned her face away from him. She’d just told herself that she should tell him something, and now she was balking. It wasn’t right. They were partners. He needed to know, at least the bare bones of it.
“Lois, give me your keys.”
That got her attention. “Excuse me?”
“I want your car keys because I’m taking you home. You’re exhausted and you’re all but out on your feet. You need more rest than you’ve gotten the last few days.”
His words enraged and energized her. So he was going to take care of her, was he? Who did this hack from Nowheresville think he was, anyway? Nobody took care of Lois Lane!
Then she deflated. Nobody but her best friend. Or her new partner.
“No,” she said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“Please, Clark.” Her eyes locked onto his and she willed him to understand. “I just – for some reason I remembered the morning my husband – the last morning I had with Claude. It just hit me out of the blue and – and I guess I didn’t handle it very well.”
He sighed deeply and nodded. “That’s understandable.”
She snorted. “What, that I didn’t handle it well?”
“No. That you’d remember that day with your husband.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Think about it. Samuel Platt was married and they had a daughter. He obviously loved both of them and hated being separated from them. You saw him dead last night. And you haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.” He lifted his hands. “It’s a good bet that all those things triggered that surge of memory.”
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “Yeah, that makes sense.” She tried to laugh. “Oh, well, if I were going to get clobbered by any memories of Claude, I’m glad it was that one.”
His face crinkled into a thousand-watt smile. “I’m guessing it was a good memory.”
She returned his smile and felt her face warm. Blushing? Lois Lane was blushing? She’d never live it down!
“Yes,” she admitted. “It was a very good memory.”
He nodded. “Good.” He put a brotherly hand on her shoulder. “You need to hold on to those memories. You should never forget him.”
She took another quick moment to digest his words, then cocked her head to one side. “That’s funny, because I’ve met a few men in the last few months who say they want to make me forget him.”
He shook his head and his smile receded, yet his eyes became even more intense. “Don’t do that. Don’t even try to do it. Even if you decide to let yourself love someone again, you mustn’t let yourself forget Claude. He was a vital and important part of your life. Being with him and loving him has helped make you the person you are today. The time you spent with him is a part of you, and any man who wants you to forget a part of yourself to be with him isn’t the right man for you because he doesn’t care about you the way he should.”
She held his gaze for a long moment, then broke the stare and reached into her purse for her keys. “That’s a very impressive and heartfelt speech, Mr. Kent. It almost sounds as if you know exactly what you’re talking about.”
He blinked and smiled again as he removed his hand from her shoulder. “Maybe I do.”
She nodded once, then gestured with her keys. “Shall we go to the office now? We do have work to do.”
“Are you sure you’re up to it?”
She suppressed the reflexive urge to snap at him. “Yes, I’m sure. And I know you’re only trying to help, that you’re not trying to run my life or steal my story, so I’m going to let you live.”
His grin turned wry. “That’s very generous of you.”
“This time, I’m letting you live.” She jabbed a finger at his face. “Just don’t let it happen again, Farm Boy. Next time I might not take it so easy on you.”
The twinkle in his eyes told her that he understood. “Got it,” he answered. “And from now on I’ll watch my step.”
As they pulled away from the curb, Lois wondered idly if Clark could read minds. He’d known just how to speak to her and how to react to her. If he’d treated her almost any other way, she would have ripped him a new one and dragged his unconscious body onto the news floor and left it for the cleaning crew.
But he’d handled her perfectly. And, wonder of wonders, she didn’t care that he had handled her. He’d spoken the words she’d needed to hear and had done exactly what he should have done, not too much and not too little.
She kept the smile from her face. The young man had some real potential. But she didn’t want him to get a big head about it.
