Chapter 17: The Walls Come Tumbling Down
Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho,
Jericho, Jericho,
Joshua fit the Battle of Jericho
And the walls come tumbling down.
--“Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho”
****
The next day, I decided to visit Penny’s Pet Palace before work. As I approached the building, I cheerfully whistled “Joshua Fit the Battle of Jericho” to myself. I smiled as I thought of how Perry would disapprove of the version I had in mind and would insist Elvis’s was better. But I much preferred the Joe and Eddie rendition of the song to Elvis’s. They were both upbeat, but the Joe and Eddie version just had something Elvis’s didn’t.
I paused as the song gave me an idea, and I whispered to myself part of the lyrics: “The walls come tumbling down . . . . ”
I broke out into a grin. I had just decided on the name I would use: “Jericho.” It was a lot better than “Shelby,” that was for sure. The dog had certainly made a wall come tumbling down the night before. And “Jericho” wouldn’t be quite as attention-grabbing as “Krypto.”
I went into the pet store and was greeted by the woman at the counter. “Good morning,” she said pleasantly. “Can I help you find anything?”
“I’m fine, thanks—I just need to grab a couple things,” I told her. I went and found a yellow collar that looked as if it would fit Jericho, and I stood and looked at the dog food section for a few minutes before picking out a brand I had heard a few good things about. After grabbing a couple of durable-looking toys, I took all my items up to the counter and told the woman, “I’ll also need a token for the ID machine . . . . ”
“No problem,” she said, scanning the big bag of dog food.
I hesitated. I didn’t want to take the collar for free, but I did want George to know that I had been by. “Is George doing okay?”
The woman, who had been picking up the collar, frowned. “Did you hear about—wait, you must be the guy he told me to watch out for!” She beamed and held out her hand for me to shake. “I’m Penny.”
“Clark,” I returned. I slowly took her hand in mine and shook it. It was going to be hard to get used to touching people again.
“Thank you so much for helping my cousin. He’s not exactly good at defending himself. He’s just a skinny white boy.”
Smiling at that description, I got out my wallet.
“Put that away,” she told me. “This purchase is on the house.”
I shook my head. “I don’t mind paying, really. I just wanted to make sure George got home safely.”
“Come on . . . . Let me take care of it this time. Good guys don’t get rewarded for their good deeds very often—better take it while you can.”
I chuckled. Seeing the earnestness in her face, I conceded, “All right.”
“Great!” she exclaimed, pleased. She cancelled what she’d been ringing up and handed me a token for the ID engraving machine. “Just slip it in the slot, pick out a tag, and type in your information.”
“Thank you . . . . I appreciate it.”
“Not a problem,” Penny said kindly.
I went to the ID machine and engraved a tag with the name “Jericho” on it, along with my contact information. My good cheer just kept continuing. I hadn’t exposed myself to the meteor rock that morning, and the knowledge that I wasn’t going to have to do so again for a long time—if ever—was like a great weight lifted off my shoulders. I hadn’t felt this genuinely happy in a while.
****
I stopped by my apartment to drop off the new items and quickly walk Jericho. I said the name “Jericho” several times to catch his attention and make him familiar with the name. And then I looked at my watch and grimaced. I needed to head to work.
I dropped him off at my apartment and took a taxi to the Planet. Upon entering the newsroom, I noticed a few people gathered around the televisions, and so I approached to see what was going on.
The LNN news reporter Natalie Lucas was discussing Harrison McGregor. “Reports from early this morning say that McGregor has entered into a plea bargain,” she was saying. Apparently, there was speculation that the sentence for his involvement in the destruction of the Sallya Technologies building would be a lot shorter than it might have been.
Hearing about that made me suspicious. It didn’t help that Sheldon Bender—a lawyer known to work frequently with Lex Luthor—was in charge of McGregor’s defense. McGregor had to be taking the fall in exchange for something.
Lois was out covering a press conference according to Jimmy, so I did a little digging into McGregor’s finances with Jimmy’s help. We found that a substantial deposit had been made into McGregor’s bank account and that McGregor’s wife was driving a new Porsche.
“Looks like we’re on to something, C.K.,” the young man commented.
I nodded grimly. “I think you’re right. If Sheldon Bender is involved, we might have found a connection to LexCorp.”
“Kent!” Perry White barked from the doorway of his office. “My office!”
I turned to look at the Chief Editor, but he had gone back to his desk. I gestured vaguely at the computer and told Jimmy, “You keep on looking to see if you can find anything else—like maybe who made that deposit.”
“Got it,” he acknowledged, intent on the monitor.
When I entered Perry White’s office, he asked immediately, “What are you working on?” There was never time for small talk with Perry White.
“Harrison McGregor has to be taking the fall for someone,” I responded. “I think there might be a connection to LexCorp.”
He nodded. “That may be, son, but you also might be chasing ghosts . . . . Do you have anything concrete yet?”
I shook my head. “I’ve been hitting a lot of dead ends. Jimmy might be able to find out something, but I’m not sure.”
He pulled down a pencil tucked behind his ear and chewed on the end of it for a few seconds. “All right. Here’s what I want you to do, Clark. Now, don’t drop the story—just put it on the backburner. There are rumors of illegal immigrants being harbored in Metropolis, and I’d like for you look into that for me. It could be another ghost, but there are a few politicians going into a frenzy about it.”
I wanted to argue with him, but I hadn’t been at the Planet long enough to really earn that right. I knew there was a story here—but I wasn’t sure I could prove it. So instead I just told him, “Okay, Chief,” and I left his office feeling a little defeated.
Lois had returned by this point, and she looked up at me from her desk. “What’s wrong, farmboy?”
Standing by her, I shrugged. “Though he didn’t come out and say it, I think he just killed my story.”
She patted me consolingly. “Don’t worry, Perry does th—” Suddenly, she realized she had just touched me. “Oh, Clark, I’m so sorry—I wasn’t thinking—”
“It’s all right,” I rushed to assure her. “I’m—well, I’m getting over it.” I shrugged uncomfortably.
Lois tilted her head and studied me for a few seconds, as if to determine whether or not I was serious. Evidently, she was satisfied, as she told me with a smile, “I knew you would come around some time.”
I smiled at her, lost in the dark brown pools of her eyes until she dragged me out by saying, “As a movement in that direction . . . ” She held her arm out for me to hook it with my own. After only briefly hesitating, I did so. “Now, I know this nearby café which makes great sandwiches . . . . ”
I was surprised to realize how much I enjoyed the simple feeling of Lois’s arm in mine, and I couldn’t help but grin wider.
As Lois and I left for lunch, we passed by Cat, who winked at me.
****
After work, I felt I was flying as high as a kite—and as soon as it was dark, I was, my dark rescue gear on and Jericho wrapped in a black blanket in my arms. I was worried at first as to how the dog would take to flying, but he absolutely loved it. The smells high up in the air were unlike the ones he was used to, and he eagerly looked over my arms at the scenery below. He started to bark, but I sharply told him, “Bad dog,” and he stopped, looking penitent.
I dropped down in front of my parents’ house and let Jericho jump to the ground, though I held onto his leash so he wouldn’t run off. His nose was working furiously, and I chuckled to myself. I would have to take him to look at some cows later.
Almost as soon as I had opened the door, my mom came barreling toward me to embrace me in a bear hug. Despite her small stature, I almost lost my balance and fell over. “Whoa, Mom, take it easy,” I teased. But I couldn’t help but admit to myself that I enjoyed her embrace—it had been far too long. I hadn’t realized how much the simple touch of another person could increase one’s sense of well being.
Mom squeezed me tighter. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to let go of you, Clark Jerome Kent.”
I raised an eyebrow, pulling my arms around her. “My full name, huh? I must be in trouble then.”
Dad was soon right there with us. To any outsider, we would have looked like a ridiculous jumble of bodies. To us, however, we were just members of a family expressing our affection for each other, albeit enthusiastically.
Jericho jumped and pawed my mom’s legs, eager for attention. She pulled away and looked down. “And this must be Shelby,” she said as she knelt and gave the dog attention.
“Jericho, actually,” I corrected as I let go of Dad, who patted my shoulder, as if to assure himself that I was still there. “I renamed him this morning. I don’t want him to be too obviously connected to his former life—people might come looking for him otherwise.” I bent and unclipped his leash from his collar. “He’s housebroken, so you don’t have to worry about him. But I probably wouldn’t let him outside unsupervised—he might start scaring the livestock.”
“Aww, not him,” Mom said in baby-talk, rubbing the sides of his face. Jericho wagged his tail enthusiastically. “I love him already,” she proclaimed, standing up. Jericho, not receiving attention any longer, decided he wanted to investigate the house, and he trotted off.
“So, you’re wanting a costume, huh?” Dad inquired.
I nodded. “Yeah—some sort of outfit that will distinguish me, Clark Kent, from my rescue persona . . . . ”
“Hm,” Dad grunted. “And you said no black, right?”
“Yeah. I want this new figure to be completely different from the Black Knight. I don’t want anyone thinking he has something to hide.”
“Why do I get the feeling that you talking about yourself in the third person is going to become a frequent occurrence around here?” Mom said, the corners of her mouth turning upward. “All right, Clark. Come with me into the bedroom. I’ve picked out some different colors, and I need your input.”
“I’ll be in here if you need me,” Dad called out after us.
Mom and I went into the other room. She had several different colors of fabric lined out on the bed. Pulling out a notepad, she showed me some sketches she’d made.
I raised an eyebrow. “Why do most of them have a cape?”
She grinned. “Well, for one, it will look great while you’re flying . . . . More practically speaking, it will also cover up the zipper in the back . . . . And you know, honey, your suit will have to be skintight to cut down on wind resistance—I thought you might like the cape to cover up your rear at least.”
“Mom!” I sputtered, blushing as red as a fire engine.
“What?” she asked with an innocent expression.
I flipped through the sketchpad again. “What’s with this underwear on the outside theme?”
She crossed her arms, prepared to defend her cause. “Clark, the purpose of the suit is to be flashy and keep people’s eyes more on your body than your face . . . . This design would keep people thinking more about your . . . other assets.”
I could not believe I was having this conversation with my mother. “And the tall boots?” I asked weakly.
“Another stylistic choice. We want eye-catching, remember?” Her brow suddenly furrowed. “I just remembered something!”
She knelt on the floor by the bed and pulled a trunk out from under the bed. Opening it, she pulled out a blue blanket, which she caressed lovingly.
“This is the blanket we found you in,” she told me. “And this was also with you.” She reached down and got out a thin piece of fabric in the shape of a pentagon, which she handed to me. It looked as if it belonged on the front of a shirt, like a logo or an insignia of some kind. The exterior of the pentagon was outlined in red which continued on to form what looked like an “S.” The background was yellow.
As I traced the “S” with a finger, I said, “Jor-El and Lara were wearing a similar symbol, though the color was different . . . . I wonder if different classes wore different symbols? Or if it was a family crest . . . . ” I frowned in thought. “Or maybe it indicated different careers . . . . ”
“If it indicated different careers, they probably wouldn’t have sent it with you,” Mom pointed out. “It was probably a symbol of something. And now, we can make it symbolize something else—the battle for good. I think it would look great in the middle of your chest.”
“I don’t want to use the original,” I said hesitatingly. “But I wouldn’t mind using a facsimile of it . . . . ”
Mom smiled. “Great. We’ll just need to make sure the color scheme matches.”
“What exactly did you have in mind?”
****
We sketched out what felt like a hundred different versions of outfits. We experimented with stripes, dots, zigzags. We looked at designs with and without belts, shorts, and capes. We sketched masks covering the eyes, masks covering half the face, mask covering all the face. We drew hats, cuffs, bandannas . . . . We even tried looking at different kinds of shoes. The more sketches we did, the sloppier our drawings seemed to get. But at last we narrowed our preferences down to a few pictures.
We debated a few different color schemes—we knew we were using red and yellow, but we weren’t certain if we wanted a third and possibly even a fourth color as well. Simplicity was key, but my mother kept getting this gleam in her eyes as she came up with new ideas.
“The blue will help tone down the red and yellow just a bit,” Mom argued, and I quickly agreed with her. My baby blanket had been blue, and it had looked good when contrasted with the “S” logo.
In regard to accessories, we agreed that I would definitely have a full-length cape and long boots that didn’t quite reach my knees. However, Mom was having a hard time convincing me about the need for a belt and shorts. “Clark, I’m telling you,” she argued, “the shorts are a good idea . . . . Just think—if we have blue as the primary color of your tights, red or yellow shorts would stand out nicely.”
I sighed, knowing this was one battle I wouldn’t win. “Make the shorts red, I guess. I’d rather minimize the yellow. I don’t want to blind anyone.”
Grinning triumphantly, she told me, “Okay. We’ll make the cape and shorts red, but we’ll make the belt yellow. How’s that sound?”
I buried my face in a pillow. “I’m going to look ridiculous.”
“No, you’re going to be eye-catching,” she insisted firmly. “Now, do we want a mask or not?”
Sighing, I removed my head from its position against the pillow and looked at her. “I don’t know . . . . I don’t want to look like I have something to hide.”
She stared at my face and took off my glasses, considering me. Then she reached forward and brushed my hair back. “Clark—go get some hair gel and slick your hair all the way back like you did for the high school prom.”
I groaned. “Don’t tell me you remember that?” After I had gotten the pictures back from prom years ago and looked at them, I had begun to think slicking my hair back made me look like a drowned rat.
“Just scoot!” she ordered.
Narrowly avoiding her swat at my rear, I disappeared for a few minutes to do as she asked. After applying liberal amounts of gel, I stared into the mirror with wide eyes. I knew now what she was going for . . . . I looked like a different person.
When I returned to the bedroom, she was measuring out fabric and getting ready to begin her sewing project. Upon seeing me, a smile spread across her face. “I was right!” she crowed. “You look almost like a complete stranger. You’ll be hiding in plain sight, and no one will even realize it . . . . Though, I must admit, based on the design we’re going for, there probably won’t be anyone looking at your face.”
“Mom!” I gaped. I had blushed more in the past few hours than I had in the past few years.
“They’re called tights for a reason,” she returned with a grin. “Now, what do you think about putting another version of this ‘S’ shield on the back of your cape?”
I looked at her dubiously. “The red of the ‘S’ won’t look good on it.”
“So we make it a different color—what if it’s blue and yellow instead?”
“How about just one color?” I suggested.
“Sounds like a plan. Now, come over here so I can measure your feet. I’ll order you some red boots, but in the meantime, we’re going to use fabric ones as a temporary solution so you can start right away. I don’t want you changing your mind because your costume didn’t come together fast enough.”
I rolled my eyes but didn’t comment.
“I do have pair of your old shoes that we can use the soles from—we can glue them to some fabric, and that should make do for now . . . . Would you also like the symbol on your belt?”
Shaking my head, I told her, “No. Two places is enough.”
“How about you sketch it out? You’re faster than I am at it.”
As the corners of my lips drew upward—I knew she was just wanting me to use one of my special abilities—I grabbed a pencil and quickly sketched out a version of what we had discussed. “There.”
She stared at the drawing and took the pencil from me. “What do you think of having a yellow circle around your ‘S,’ Clark?” She drew it as an example.
I stared at it for a few seconds before replying, “No, I don’t think so. Simplicity, remember?”
“You’re right,” she agreed as she used the pencil’s eraser to remove the circle. “Can you go and fetch my colored pencils? I want to get an idea of what this looks like.”
I zipped out of the room and returned a second later with the pencils, not missing the satisfied expression on Mom’s face. I colored in our final design and then made another version of the cape on the next page. Since our drawing didn’t show the back of the costume, I wanted to see what the “S” would look like. I sketched a version of the symbol at the top of the cape before changing my mind and erasing it. Then I drew it in a more central location on the cape.
“That’s definitely better,” Mom commented.
I grabbed the blue pencil and started coloring the symbol in before grimacing. “Yellow would be better, I think,” I muttered, erasing the blue marks I’d made as best as I could and then coloring the symbol in with the yellow pencil.
She squeezed my shoulder. “It looks great, honey. I can’t wait to see what it looks like.”
“I can,” I sighed. Still, there was a small part of me that was excited. This was the beginning of a whole new life.
****
I went into the bathroom to change. The mirror wasn’t that big, but there was a full-length one in my parents’ bedroom. Still, I wasn’t certain that I wanted to exit the bathroom. I felt rather like a walking target, even if I was invulnerable.
I pushed back a curl of hair on my forehead and smoothed it down with gel. Would this work?
Somehow, I felt that it would. The man I saw in the mirror was nothing like Clark Kent. How could anyone ever draw a connection between him and me?
I adjusted my cape and opened the bathroom door. As I went into my Mom’s bedroom, the soles of my makeshift boots clicked gently on the floor.
“Wow,” was what Mom first said when she saw me. “Oh, honey.” She came quickly toward me for what I thought was another hug, but then I realized she was examining the skintight fabric. “I’ll need to make a few adjustments,” she told me as she got some pins, “but this is going to work.”
“You really think so?” I asked unsurely as I surveyed myself in the mirror.
She smiled. “I know so.”
****
After the adjustments to the suit were made to Mom’s satisfaction, we walked into the living room. Jericho was sitting on the couch beside Dad, who was watching television.
Hearing my approach, Jericho looked up and barked, running over to me in excitement.
“Sit,” I commanded, not wanting him to scratch up my new suit, and he complied, though he still seemed to be grinning at me.
“Clark,” my father said in wonder as he stood.
“What do you think, Dad?” I asked, still not feeling confident.
“I think you’re going to blow them all away.”
I gave a half-hearted chuckle. “I don’t know—you really think I’m much to speak of?”
Jericho barked.
“I’d say he thinks so,” Mom told me as she knelt to pet him. “Maybe you should use him as your sidekick.”
I rolled my eyes. “I can’t have anyone connecting this person—” I gestured at my suit, “—to Clark Kent like that. If we both had the same dog, it would be a little suspicious, don’t you think?”
The small Kansas woman crossed her arms stubbornly. “Not necessarily. You know, Clark, as busy are you’re going to be, you probably won’t have much time to spend with a pet unless you involve him in your rescues . . . . I did some research on American Eskimos. They’re high-energy dogs that thrive on activity. You don’t exactly have a big backyard that he can run around in . . . . And besides, parts of his fur are dyed black. If you can have a separate persona, why not Jericho as well? You could distinguish between his personas with the presence and absence of spots just like you distinguish between your personas with a costume . . . . You could even give him a cape if you wanted.”
Laughing, I shook my head. “I’m not giving him a cape.”
“Just think about it at least,” Mom pressed.
I held my hands up. “All right.” My eyebrows turned inward as I considered the idea. I could distinguish further between Jericho’s personas with different-colored collars and different names—maybe I could even use the name “Krypto,” which I had previously discarded. Using and removing the dye might get annoying, but I could move fast enough that it wouldn’t be a big deal . . . . And besides, it would be nice to have a partner . . . .
“Are you going to go start now?” Mom asked eagerly. I could sense she was trying to keep me on my current path with everything she had. She and my father supported me whole-heartedly in this, and it made me feel good.
“I was wondering if I could leave Jericho with you both for a while?” I asked, sidestepping her question. “To separate him from the animals Sallya Technologies was experimenting on, I want to create a story around him. We’ve had dogs occasionally on the farm, so nobody should think it strange to see him around . . . . I’d like you to even plan a few sightings of him with some Smallville residents. When asked about him, you could tell them you’ve had him for a little while and intend to send him up to live with me soon.”
“We wouldn’t mind doing that, Clark,” Mom said, “and that should help protect your side of the story . . . . But if you do use him as a sidekick, he will probably be quickly connected to that animal research . . . . You might even be connected to it.”
“Assuming I did use him to help me, I would probably need to have an interview to clear that up . . . . Maybe if the public learns that I’m from another planet, they’ll just assume he is, too. At least we can make it ambiguous . . . . And maybe if they think he can do more than he actually can, they’ll leave him alone. I know he can’t be killed by bullets at least.”
“So, you’re sure you want us to create this background story for him?” Dad asked.
I nodded. “For one thing, Lois doesn’t know I have him . . . . And if she realized I was holding out on her in the Sallya Technologies story, she’d be—well, royally displeased, to say the least.”
Casually, Mom asked, “Is she going to be the one who does your first interview?”
I flushed. The thought had crossed my mind. “I don’t know,” I managed, trying to sound as if the question hadn’t affected me. “Maybe.”
“Uh huh.”
“I think I’m going to just go dive right in,” I said, moving the subject away from Lois Lane. “It’s kind of scary, but there’s no time like the present, I guess.”
Dad came and gave me a hug. “I know you’ll make us proud, son.”
“I’ll certainly try,” I said softly.
