Chapter 7: I’m so Lonesome I Could Cry
Did you ever see a robin weep
When leaves began to die?
That means he’s lost the will to live . . . .
I’m so lonesome I could cry.
--“I’m so Lonesome I Could Cry”
****
Unable to sleep at all, I got to the Planet earlier than I had told Lois. I found Jimmy and asked him if he’d heard from S.T.A.R. Labs, but he hadn’t yet. As soon as he did, he assured me, he would let me know.
Then I tried calling Henderson, hoping he had found some sort of clue that would help us prove it was murder. But nothing conclusive had been found.
“I’m sorry, Kent,” he told me, “but we’re going to have to put ‘suicide’ on the autopsy report.”
“I understand,” I sighed. “Thank you for your help.” I made an angry scribble on my notepad with my pen. The action was pointless, but it made me feel a little better.
“Which is not to say that it can’t be changed if you find proof of wrongdoing,” he pointed out. “It looks suspicious to me, too, but we need evidence before we can point any fingers.”
I nodded slowly to myself. The man was doing his job—I needed to be careful that I didn’t take my frustrations out on him. “I’ll try to find some for you,” I told him firmly. “Whoever did this needs to pay.”
After hanging up with Henderson, I went back to work. Around nine, Lois entered the newsroom and walked over to my desk. Evidently, she was able to tell I’d been at the Planet for a while, as she asked, “Anything?”
“No luck,” I said soberly. I wished I could make a better report.
Lois went to her own desk, and shortly after, Jimmy came up to me and said, “C.K., you and Lois have a couple of visitors.”
I looked up and saw a girl in a wheelchair next to a blonde-haired woman. Realizing this girl was the one who had been in the picture on Platt’s desk, I said, “Thanks, Jimmy,” and then I stood. I retrieved Lois, and we began walking toward the pair.
On seeing us, the woman held up a finger to signify for us to wait, so we paused and watched as she wheeled the girl over toward the elevator to wait for her. Then she came to us.
“Are you Dr. Platt’s sister?” I ventured.
She nodded and gave a half-hearted smile. Her pain bubbled beneath the surface, and my heart went out to her. “Yes, Mr. Kent,” she acknowledged. “I’m Mrs. Knightley. My husband and I have been taking care of his daughter, Amy. A few nights ago, my brother managed to get a message to me that you and Ms. Lane were working to prove his theory right. You—you have no idea how much that means to me . . . . ” Her voice was getting choked up, and she couldn’t seem to say much else.
“I’m so sorry for your loss,” I told her softly.
“Thank you,” she said in a strained voice. After gazing briefly in the direction of her niece, she told us, “Amy doesn’t know yet. Everything Samuel and his wife worked on was for her, you understand. I just—” She trailed off, obviously emotionally distraught. “How can I tell her that her father has died when she has just recovered from the loss of her mother? He sent her to be with me when he realized he was in danger. He didn’t want to put her at risk. She’s such a sweet child—I’ve been trying to be a mother figure to her, but I’m no replacement for her real mother. And now, she’s lost her father . . . . ” She gave us an earnest look. “I don’t know who did this to him, but I do know that my brother would have never killed himself. He was murdered because he knew the Prometheus program was being sabotaged. He wasn’t insane; he was just a target . . . . Please, help clear Samuel’s name. Don’t let Amy grow up thinking—thinking that her father committed suicide. I’m going to have to tell her he’s passed on—but please don’t let suicide be what I have to tell her. My husband and I—we love Amy. We don’t want her to hurt any more than she has to . . . . ”
“I promise we’ll do everything we can to help,” I told her. “We believe you.”
“Mrs. Knightley,” Lois said in a quiet voice, “children are resilient. She may be hurt by her father’s death—but don’t wait too long to tell her. She needs to know.”
She nodded slowly. “I know . . . . ” Wiping a tear from her eye, she whispered, “Thank you so much.” She glanced briefly at her niece. “Would—would you like to meet my niece?”
“I’d love to,” I responded.
Lois and I followed Mrs. Knightley over to Amy Platt, who smiled on seeing us. “This is Amy,” Mrs. Knightley said. “Amy, this is Ms. Lane and Mr. Kent.”
“Hello, Amy,” I greeted.
“Hi,” the girl returned. “Is it fun being a reporter?”
I felt as if my heart were being squeezed between two anvils. This girl had lost both her parents in just a matter of a few years . . . . When she learned about her father’s death, how would she be able to endure it?
“It is,” Lois said gently. “But it’s also a lot of work.”
Amy nodded and then turned to her aunt. “I’m supposed to be at Susan’s by now—remember?”
“I know,” Mrs. Knightley acknowledged. She gave Lois and me a smile. “Thank you again.” She pressed the button for the elevator, obviously under great strain to try to maintain a cheerful countenance.
Lois and I exchanged a helpless look. Suddenly, we noticed people were gathering around the newsroom televisions. We moved to join them and saw a special report from LexTel.
A few different members of the Congress of Nations were visible in the press room on the screen, but it was a Hindu woman in traditional garb who began to speak first. “We are pleased to announce that we have made the unanimous decision to continue our plans for Space Station Prometheus.”
A reporter asked about Lex Luthor’s proposal, and the chairperson on the screen answered, “The Congress of Nations is very grateful to Mr. Luthor for his generous offer, but we believe we should continue with our schedule as planned. Prometheus is a project dedicated to international cooperation, and we do not wish to lose sight of that.”
The chairperson answered some questions, and I soon walked away from the television with a sense of satisfaction. Something about Luthor’s offer to fund a space station of his own had bugged me, and I was glad I didn’t need to worry about it any longer. The program would remain an international endeavor.
Lois gestured for me to follow her into the conference room, and I did so. As we were organizing our notes, Jimmy came in. He handed Lois a file. “So, I talked to some people at S.T.A.R. Labs, and they analyzed the report . . . . They used a hologram much like Lex Luthor’s to recreate the Messenger’s launch. It was really amazing . . . . ” Seeing the look Lois gave him, he said hastily, “But the point of the matter is—Platt’s theory was right. Someone did deliberately sabotage the transport. That explosion wasn’t an accident. Congrats, you two—you did it!” And with a grin and a wave, he left.
Lois and I turned to each other, ecstatic.
“We proved Dr. Platt right!” I exclaimed. “And now we can write the story.”
“You mean I can write the story,” Lois corrected.
“And I can help you write it.”
“And you can help,” she said in agreement. “Then, if we are able to convince people that the Messenger was sabotaged . . . ”
I beamed. “We might be able to prevent anything bad from happening again!”
Lois moved to hug me but suddenly backed up. “Sorry, just got—carried away,” she muttered.
Though she hadn’t touched me, I felt a strange sense of loss. Still, wanting to cover up the awkwardness and keep the positive energy going, I suggested, “What if we have dinner—to celebrate?”
She nodded. “I would like that, it—oh, wait. No. I can’t have dinner.”
I tilted my head. “Other plans?”
“Yes, actually.”
I felt a sudden spark of annoyance as I realized what she must mean. “With Lex Luthor?” I wasn’t sure why, but the man made me uncomfortable. And the fact that I’d basically shot myself in the foot on this occasion by telling him to give Lois an interview instead of me was irksome.
“Yes. I already told you—I’m getting that private interview with him if it kills me.”
You’ve already got it, I thought to myself, and you don’t even know that you’re indebted to me for it.
“I’m sorry we can’t celebrate tonight,” she said as she left the conference room.
Following her out, I told her, “Lois, please just be careful with him. He gives me an uneasy feeling.”
She swiveled to face me. “Look, Kent, I have taken care of myself for this long, and I don’t need some ‘big, strong man’ to protect me.”
“The man could be dangerous, Lois. You don’t know what he’s done on his way to the top—”
“I don’t need a bodyguard or a babysitter, Kent,” she proclaimed, walking away.
“What is your problem?” I growled after her.
She stopped again, whipping her head toward me and lifting an accusatory finger. “My problem is that Perry thrust such an inexperienced hack from Nowheresville—”
“What—and you think it’s been easy working with you?” I gave a bitter laugh. “Do you know what they call you around here?”
Her face fell, and I instantly regretted what I had said. “Never mind,” I murmured, turning away.
“What do they call me?” she asked in a small voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” I told her, not looking at her.
I had only walked a few more steps when she said, “Kent—please tell me.” When I looked at her, she corrected softly, “Clark.”
I would have given anything to take back my words. But if I didn’t tell her, she would probably do some digging and find out anyway. It was probably best for her to hear it from me.
“Well, I’ve only been here for a few days,” I said quietly, “but I’ve heard you called . . . the Ice Queen . . . and Mad Dog Lane.”
Her lips became a thin line, and she nodded. As she began to retreat to the safety of the elevators, I called after her, “Lois . . . I think you’re a brilliant reporter. And the petty things people say shouldn’t matter at all. Everyone here knows that you’re one of the best investigative journalists this country has ever seen.”
She nodded but refused to meet my eyes. As the elevator closed, I wondered if the words I had said had made even the slightest of impacts.
****
That night, I did some more walking around the city before returning to my hotel room. I felt restless, upset . . . .
I couldn’t believe what I had said to Lois. She was just so aggravating sometimes that I had wanted to lash out at her—and I was ashamed of myself. She was a woman trying to make it in a man’s world. I couldn’t blame her for being overly aggressive. There was no excuse for what I had done.
What made me feel even worse was the fact that I kept thinking about her having dinner with Lex Luthor. I wasn’t certain if it was supposed to be a date or an interview, but just the idea of it was driving me nuts. Still, there was nothing I could do about it. If I’d had my powers . . . but no. I shouldn’t be spying on Lois Lane. That would probably qualify as stalker territory. I didn’t need to stoop to that to satisfy my curiosity.
I took off my locket and began to clean it carefully. My thoughts soon turned to my grandmother. It had belonged to her. I hated the fact that I’d had to coat it in white lead-based paint, but the shard’s effect on me wouldn’t be blocked by closing the locket otherwise.
I smiled as I thought of her. She had been such a wonderful person. I had been so devastated when she had died.
My powers really hadn’t begun to show until after she’d passed away, and I wasn’t sure what exactly my parents had told her about me, but she had said to me one time, “Clark, you’re a very special boy. You may not think it now, but one day you are going to do great things . . . . You can trust me on that.”
But I had done nothing great. She’d been wrong.
If she had lived longer, I might have told her about my special abilities as they appeared. But a car accident had taken her life, and so only my parents knew about me . . . . Well, that might not have been entirely true. I suspected Wayne Irig—my parents’ neighbor and friend—knew more than he admitted.
Sometimes, I wondered what would have happened if I’d had my powers when my grandmother died. Would I have been able to save her? Would I have known she was in danger and zipped to her side, only to be too late to do anything? Or would I have still been utterly clueless?
I didn’t want the abilities—didn’t want the power and responsibility that came with them. I wished I could just be normal.
I stared at the necklace in my hand, feeling hatred and sorrow and need. The shard hidden inside the locket gave me just a glimpse of normal—it let me experience what it was like to have no powers. But I always knew they would come back—and I would have to put myself through the terrible pain of exposure time and time again. I hated that I had to do it—hated that I felt the weight of that locket against my chest every day. I hated that this would be my life forever. But I had no choice—I couldn’t keep from exposing myself to the shard unless I holed myself away from human company forever.
Occasionally, I thought about suicide.
It was never more than half-serious, but the idea floated up every now and then. It seemed as if it would just make things so much easier.
I was a monster . . . . And my parents didn’t know it. I couldn’t let them ever know it. I would live with the pain of meteor rock exposure every minute of the day to keep them from feeling any great pain of their own.
If it weren’t for them, all of my dreams would have died years ago. As it was, I was finally breathing life into my dreams for their sakes.
It wasn’t that I didn’t want to enjoy life. But I kept thinking of Africa and what had happened there.
There was one dream that I could never realize. I could never get married and have a family. I couldn’t ever allow myself to get close to another person like that. It was too dangerous.
I put the chain around my neck and held the locket against my chest. The morning exposures to meteor rock were getting more difficult, especially since I wasn’t getting as much sleep as I needed. And so I thumbed open the locket and gave myself only a brief exposure to the rock. I was exhausted, so I couldn’t take much without coming dangerously close to unconsciousness, but it was hopefully enough to get me through most of the next day. If I needed another dose at the office, I would give it to myself briefly, even if I didn’t like having to do it there.
When I was done with the locket, I collapsed backward onto the bed, my heart aching for the future I would never have.
