From deep in his pants pocket, Clark heard the shrill of his cell phone. He pulled it out, hoping fervently that Esmeralda hadn't somehow managed to procure his number. With relief, he saw that it was his mom. It would be very early morning at home. "Mom," he said, steadying his voice. "How are you?"
"Clark," his mother said with an urgency that gripped his stomach. "There's been a train crash in the subway in Metropolis. They're worried about a collapse, and if that happens, hundreds of people will die. Can you come?"
"Of course I can come," Clark said. "I'll be there in a few minutes." He slipped the cell back into his pocket as his heart plummeted. He had to go to Lois and make an excuse. And regardless of how convincing he was ... and past experience told him he was unlikely to be convincing at all ... she would think he was making excuses so he could go back to Esmeralda.
Clark groaned.
Then he remembered the trapped people, and hurried the few steps to Lois's unit.
She looked up as he entered. He thought he saw a glimmer of pleasure that he was back so soon, but he had no time to think about that now.
"Lois," Clark said, knowing he sounded a little breathless and despising himself for it. "Lois, I've just had a call, and I have to go. I'm sorry."
Her expression of surprise slashed through his heart.
"Thanks for everything," he said. "I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be ready by nine."
Clark shut her door and turned away quickly. He ran to the shrubs at the far end of the driveway, spun into the suit, lifted into the darkness, and flew to Metropolis.
Inside him rose the apprehension that assailed him every time he was about to be seen in public as Superman. He tried to calm himself by thinking ahead to the job that awaited him. Yet nothing - not his nervousness, nor his attempt to focus his mind on the emergency - could dissolve the memory of Lois's look of hurt surprise as he had mumbled his feeble excuse.
Part 10
A portion of the tunnel had collapsed around the front of the train. Clark's estimation was that the train had left the tracks at high speed and cannoned into the side of the tunnel, which had then caved in, crushing all of the first carriage and a portion of the second. He hovered directly above the site, his cape flapping in the early-morning breeze as he looked through the street level buildings and sidewalk, trying to differentiate between those people already deceased and those who could be saved.
He fine-tuned his hearing to the first carriage to ascertain what he thought he already knew. Nothing. No dah-dub of a beating heart, no swish of breath. Clark moved to the second carriage, forcing his focus to the living at the expense of the dead. He heard a stilted chorus of heartbeats, and he was fired with new purpose.
With people situated so near the devastation of the collapsed tunnel, he needed to take particular care not to endanger their tenuous hold on life. Clark decided on his strategy and then, flying at superspeed, tracked the underground tunnel to the nearest station. Seconds later, he landed amidst the gathered rescue workers and frightened would-be passengers.
"Superman! Superman!" The cry rose from the crowd. "Superman! You're here!"
A man Clark recognised as having been in charge of other major rescues - Eric, his name was - strode over to him. "Superman," he said. "The lights are out, and we want to activate the emergency lighting, but we're worried about bare wires and the risk of fire."
Clark nodded and flew along the tunnel until he reached the rear of the train. He could hear the cries and screams of people trapped in the darkness. A super-quick inspection told him that the emergency lighting would provide safe and much-needed visibility. He flew back to the rescuers. "It's safe," he said.
Returning to the depths, Clark reached the crumpled train as welcome light flooded the tunnel. At the rear carriage, he forced open the doors and surveyed the passengers. He concluded that everyone there would be capable of getting out of the tunnel - either by themselves or with human help. He knew the rescuers wouldn't be far behind him.
Clark worked his way along the carriages - opening doors and checking for the seriously injured. Those trapped, he freed. Those badly injured, he carried to the station exit and carefully placed on the waiting gurneys for the ambulance officers to treat. Those critically injured, he flew to the nearest hospital.
He worked as he always did - silently, efficiently, carefully, alone.
When the train had been cleared of all those still alive, Clark doggedly began the task he had been dreading. He carefully transported each body, flying slowly through the tunnel because somehow that seemed more respectful. Once on the station platform, he paused briefly to carefully lay each lifeless form on the ground.
Soon, only the first carriage remained untouched. Clark x-rayed the ruins of the tunnel and decided the best method would be to pull the train out from under its tomb of debris. He returned to the back of the train, and, having checked one final time that it held no life, he pulled on the rear carriage, straightening the puckered train and releasing it from the rubble.
Twenty minutes later, the train was empty. Clark carried the last limp body, weaving between the police officers who were trying to assist the frightened, hysterical people searching for their loved ones. Their pain enveloped him and their cries stabbed at his heart. He placed the body on the platform, next to the other victims, and took a moment to look into their faces.
Slowly, dejectedly, Clark climbed the steps from the underground platform. He hoped he would be able to fly away, unnoticed. Instead, Eric hurried towards him, followed by Henderson - the Metropolis police inspector - and two other officers Clark didn't recognise.
"Superman," Henderson said, a little breathlessly. He seemed poised, as if he expected Clark to fly away at any moment. "We had a tip-off that this wasn't an accident, that someone sabotaged the track and weakened the structure of the tunnel to maximise the damage. What do you think?"
Clark nodded.
"What?" Henderson asked urgently. "What did you see?"
Clark gestured to the tunnel. "The evidence is there," he said.
An almost palpable cloud of despair settled on Henderson. "Thanks," he said dispiritedly. "It's hard to believe someone would want to kill so many innocent people."
Eric turned to Clark. "Thanks for your help, Superman," he said. "A lot of these people owe you their lives, and you saved all of them from many dark and frightening hours waiting to be rescued."
Clark nodded again. He turned and was about to fly away when he heard a shout.
"Superman! Superman! Wait! I have questions!"
He knew that voice. And that tone. He didn't need to turn around to know that Mayson Drake was closing in like a lioness with prey in her sights. Clark shot straight up into the clear blue sky of the Metropolis morning and flew southwest.
Back to Lois.
Five minutes later, he was wearing jeans and a shirt and standing forlornly at the end of her driveway as his longing for her battled with his common sense. His hearing picked up the sound of her heartbeat and her slow, even breaths.
She was asleep.
A powerful yearning swept over him - the urge to go to her, to slip in beside her - not for any other reason than to let her warmth and her aliveness dissipate the shroud of death that had enveloped his spirit. He'd known this agony many times - but never before had he envisaged that anything could ease his distress.
But she could.
Being with Lois would bring healing and restoration.
Innately, he knew; she was what he so desperately needed.
But he couldn't go to her.
Even had she still been awake, he couldn't go to her.
She thought he had been with Esmeralda.
Clark turned away, his heart shattering.
He trudged to Scardino's apartment and let himself in. Not bothering to switch on the light, he slumped onto the couch and stared ahead ... seeing again the destruction of life, hearing again the fear-driven hysteria of those who had been trapped, experiencing again the grief of those who had come searching for their loved ones.
His heart cold and his insides tightly tangled, he waited for the passing of the long, lonely hours of darkness.
Several times during the night, his cell rang, but Clark ignored it. It was almost certainly his parents, but this was a road he walked alone.
||_||
It was after seven-thirty the next morning when Clark finally stood from the couch. He hadn't slept. He never did after touching death. He became mired in the grim memory of the lifeless bodies in his arms. Usually, unless he had to be at the Planet, he would go to some faraway place where he could grieve by himself - where he could try to summon the equilibrium to go on with life ... firstly as Clark Kent, and then, when the time came that he was needed again, as Superman.
As Clark showered and dressed, his thoughts turned to Lois, and from amid the clinging web of hopelessness, new shoots of life began to grow.
Lois ... who in less than a week had become ...
What?
Everything, he realised.
She had become his centre, his core, his first thought upon waking, his last thought before sleeping. She had become the one who caused time to crawl when he was away from her, and the one who brought light to his world when he was with her.
But nothing gave him such undeniable clarity as recalling how he had felt outside her unit last night. On a level so fundamental it defied understanding, he had needed her.
Lois.
He loved her.
Totally. Eternally. Immutably.
His heart soared ... and then plummeted.
Lois, who probably thought ... wondered, at least ... if he had gone to Esmeralda and taken what had been so clearly offered.
Though not remotely hungry, Clark opened the fridge, hoping something in there would prove appetising.
A tap sounded on his door.
He opened it and stared.
It was Lois.
"I ... I thought I was coming to your apartment," he managed, feeling mind-numbingly unprepared for her presence.
She stepped through his doorway, and her hand rested on his arm. "Clark," she said. "I'm so sorry."
"Sorry?" he said, feeling like a fluffy cloud had engulfed his brain. "Sorry for what?"
Her hand tightened on his arm. He wanted to put his hand over hers and hold her there. "Perry," she said. "Dan rang me this morning and told me about his heart attack."
"Perry?" Clark breathed. "Perry?"
Lois's eyes were so soft, Clark was sure he could drown in them. "Haven't you heard?" she said. "Didn't someone contact you?"
He shook his head dumbly.
"Perry White had a heart attack," Lois said. "Dan said there was a big train crash in an underground tunnel, and many of the reporters were out at that. When they got back to the office, Perry had collapsed."
Clark felt the drawstrings of anxiety squeeze around his heart. "Is ... is ...?"
"He's all right," Lois hurriedly assured him. "Dan said they got him to hospital in time, and the doctors believe he will make it."
Before Clark could respond, her arms encircled his neck, and without any thought from him, his arms surrounded her tiny waist. He clung to her, aware that he was holding her too intimately, too closely, but unable to release her, unable to give up the onrush of amazing restoration brought by her touch.
He listened to her breaths as they mingled with her heartbeat. He tracked the rise and fall of her body within the circle of his arms. He drank greedily from the empathy she so freely offered. He fervently hoped she wouldn't move.
Eventually, she did. She eased away, and her hands left the back of his neck and slid to the curve of his shoulders. Her beautiful eyes connected with his. "You're close to Perry?" she asked, her voice sweet with sympathy.
Clark nodded.
"We have time to spare," Lois said. "Why don't you call someone? One of your colleagues? Or the hospital?"
"I'll call my mom," he said in a voice that seemed to come from anywhere but him. "She'll know."
Lois's hands slid gently down his shoulders, and her smile caressed his heart. "I'll wait outside," she said.
"No!"
Lois didn't jump at the sharpness of his cry. "You want me to stay in here?"
He nodded.
So she stayed. She didn't ask any questions. She just waited for him to make the call.
It *had* been his mom trying to call his cell during the night. She didn't have much extra information. Perry had been rushed to the hospital after collapsing at the Daily Planet. His prognosis was good, although the doctors were strongly advising a change in lifestyle - less stress, more exercise, and an improved diet.
Clark finished the call to his mom and then called the hospital. They would only tell him that Perry's condition was stable. Clark asked them to forward his best wishes and hung up. He turned to Lois.
"Are you going to be OK?" she asked, her eyes still gentle with concern.
He nodded. "Thanks," he said.
She stepped close to him, and for a wonderful moment, he thought she was going to hug him again. Instead, she put her hand on his arm. "You sure?"
All he needed was to be with her. Not just today but every day. But he couldn't say that, so he manufactured a small smile. "I'm sure," Clark said. "It was just a bit of a shock."
She nodded. "And at times like this you must feel like you're so far away from home."
"Yeah."
Lois lightly squeezed his arm and then removed her hand. She smiled, further dissolving his moroseness. "Have you had breakfast?"
"No."
She grinned. "I know just the place," she said. "It's the closest thing you're going to find to an American diner. They have all sorts of strange foods like bagels."
"Bagels?" Clark said with a smile that was more genuine than he would have thought possible half an hour ago.
She wrinkled her nose. "You know? Strange American food?"
"I'll buy you anything you want," Clark said. "So long as it doesn't include vegemite."
Lois chuckled. "Deal," she said.
Together they walked to the Jeep. As they drove east out of the city, Clark could not keep his eyes from Lois.
He'd found her. For his whole life he'd been looking for her, and now he'd found her.
And he loved her so much.
||_||
By the time they had finished eating a breakfast that truly was a taste of home, Clark felt as if something ... or more accurately, someone ... had banished the pain of the memories of last night and filled him instead with the warmth and wonder that was uniquely hers.
"Looks like we're in for a wet one," Lois said as they drove towards the football ground.
Clark glanced skyward. The dark clouds hovered low and ominous. He hadn't even noticed.
"Did West Coast win last night?" he asked.
"Yeah. By seventy-two points."
"That's a big win."
"Yeah."
"Have you heard any more about the possible merger?"
"North aren't saying anything other than they have a very important game this weekend and that is their entire focus. With the Fitzroy team in Perth, everyone who might know something has either gone west or gone to ground. I'm waiting for a couple of sources to get back to me, but at this stage, I just keep hitting dead ends."
The subject of his hasty departure the previous evening hadn't been mentioned. Clark couldn't just leave it. He couldn't let Lois think he had gone to Esmeralda. Even if it led to questions he didn't have answers for, she had to know he hadn't done that. "Lois," he said, before he could change his mind. "I'm sorry about leaving so abruptly last night."
"When Dan rang this morning and told me about Perry, I assumed that's what your call had been last night," she said. There was nothing in her manner to suggest she believed she was entitled to answers.
Clark's heart sank. Did she not care? Did she not care who he was with and what he did? "I know it looked like I went to Esmeralda," he said. "But I didn't."
She smiled, but it seemed just a little forced. "You don't owe me any explanations," she said.
"I'm not interested in her," he said with certainty. "Not in the slightest."
"It's none of my business," Lois said lightly.
But he wanted it to be her business.
He desperately wanted everything he did to be her business.
||_||
They arrived at the ground - now called Waverley Park - but as Lois had explained on the way, it had been built as the showcase ground of the VFL and was originally called VFL Park. The extensive car parks that spanned out from the stadium spoke of planning for huge crowds.
They entered the ground, and Lois led him up a series of internal stairways to the press box. She introduced him to the reporters from the other papers. In the adjacent box were the radio commentators. Clark surveyed the ground spread out below him. Lois had told him the dimensions, but until now, he hadn't fully appreciated the enormity of the playing area.
The fence separating the crowd from the ground was low. Dotted around the ground were security guards, but even from this distance, Clark sensed they were fairly relaxed about their duties.
For the next hour, Lois gave him background information on the game and a rundown of what to expect. "Feel like a coffee?" she asked when they had covered what felt like a mountain of detail.
"Sure."
"Wait here. I'll be back in a tick."
A few moments later, she was back with two coffees in plastic cups. She brought a bundle of sandwiches from her bag and shared them with Clark. "If we don't eat now," she said cheerfully. "We won't eat until late this evening."
Clark took the ham-and-tomato sandwich and tried to eat. He felt marginally better when Lois teased him about saying t'mate-o instead of t'mart-o, but never had he thought cheerful friendliness could be so painful.
Stuck fast in his mind was that Lois had made it clear that she felt he owed her no explanations for his behaviour.
If she cared for him ... even the tiniest bit ... wouldn't she have had some sort of reaction when he'd said he hadn't been with Esmeralda?
Yet this morning ... when she'd told him about Perry ... that had certainly felt like she cared.
Perhaps she did ... as a friend.
Clark strangled a sigh and turned his thoughts back to the football.
After they had finished eating, the time leading up to the game sped by quickly. Below him, the preparations played out like well-rehearsed theatre. The crowd gradually filled the large stadium. Lois pointed out that the cluster of red and white behind the goals to the right was the Sydney cheer squad. Behind the goals to the left was the red, black and white of St Kilda.
The teams ran on separately and began their warm-up, careful to avoid each other as they jogged around the ground. Then, they congregated at one end each, did a few drills, and practised kicking for goal. The balls were energetically retrieved by small groups of fans who fought in cheerful fashion for the privilege of returning the ball to the players.
Two small strings of the crowd - about twenty people each - leaked from each of the goal ends and walked between the low fence and the boundary line. "They're from the cheer squads," Lois said, leaning into Clark's shoulder and pointing. "They will wait in the race until the players have finished their warm-up, and then they'll bring the banner onto the arena."
Ten minutes later, the two teams of players ran off, and from different sides of the ground, the two cheer squads emerged, each with a long bundle carried on the shoulders of about four of their number.
Clark watched as what seemed like an orchestrated routine played out below him. The banners were laid on the ground and rolled outwards, revealing the poles on each end. Then St Kilda's was hoisted, held up to the cheer of the crowd, and then carefully lowered back to the ground. While the St Kilda banner was rotated one hundred and eighty degrees, the Sydney cheer squad raised theirs.
Clark couldn't help but think of Bessie Bellchambers. He figured she was here - somewhere in the crowd - dressed in her red-and-white scarf and armed with vegemite sandwiches and lamingtons. Lois must have been thinking the same thing because she turned to him with a smile. "I read your story," she said. "Great job."
"You really liked it?" he asked, not sure.
"You really know how to tug on the heartstrings," she said. "Which is a phenomenal effort for someone who must, at least sometimes, wonder what all the fuss is about."
"If nothing else, I've realised that football is much more than merely a sport here," he said.
Lois smiled at him, dazzling him. "I've changed my mind," she declared.
"About what?"
"About working with you. It won't necessarily be such a bad thing at all."
Clark grinned. "What about the Yank and the Sheila being relegated to all the dud games?" he said.
"I'm beginning to think the Yank can well and truly hold his own," she said.
Wonderful warmth flowed through him. "Thanks," he said softly.
Lois turned from him and to the ground. "Here come Sydney," she said.
The red-and-white cheer squad lifted their banner, and the Sydney song rang out around the stadium. From the race, a group of players spilt onto the field, grouped together, and then crashed through the banner. They kept running as the cheer squad lowered the tattered remains of their banner and cleared the ground.
Moments later, the process was repeated as the St Kilda team ran onto the ground.
For the next two and a half hours, Clark was engrossed in the game that played out before him. Being there in person gave him the freedom to choose whether to follow the progress of the ball or to try to comprehend the plays each team were implementing.
In some ways, it was like a huge game of chess.
A game of chess with highlights that included bone-crunching contact, ferocious tackling, jaw-dropping high marks, and the ability to handle the oval ball with a speed and surety that at times seemed closer to conjuring than sport.
When it was over, Sydney had won by seventeen points. The siren sounded, the Sydney fight song blared triumphantly, and the players shook hands in a manner so civilised and friendly that it seemed incongruous with the gladiator violence of the game itself.
Clark turned to Lois.
She was staring through the glass of the press box, although Clark immediately realised her focus wasn't on the ground but a spot straight ahead. He looked forward, wondering what had captured her attention, but saw nothing noteworthy. Turning back to Lois, he noticed the tension in her shoulders and the clench of her fists. Her heart, he realised, was pounding.
Before he could ask what was wrong, her eyelids slid shut, and all the tension slithered from her body. Her shoulders curved, and her head fell forward, and a huge breath expelled from her mouth. She slumped back and looked at him, a smile lighting her face.
Clark saw the wire leading to her ear and suddenly understood. "You were listening to the Hawthorn game?" he asked.
She nodded, her eyes glistening with excitement. "We won by two points," she said. Her fist clenched in celebration, and her grin exploded. "Two points. We're still a chance to play finals this year."
"Congratulations," Clark said.
"Thanks." Lois curbed her grin and stood. "We'd better get down to the rooms."
"The locker rooms?"
"Yeah - we call them dressing rooms. The two coaches - one from each team - will give press conferences, but we need to try to get a few words with the players before then." Clark followed her through the concrete tunnels under the stands until they came to a door. "We'll start with the winners," she said as she knocked.
The door was opened, and they walked in. They were immediately immersed in the noisy, excited atmosphere of the room. The players - no longer instantly identifiable because some had removed their red-and-white jumpers - were scattered around the room, many sporting ice packs on various parts of their bodies. Some were sitting on the floor; others were standing around, or being interviewed, or chatting with the small gathering of people Clark assumed were either family, friends, or lucky supporters. Lois made a beeline for a player. Clark followed her and listened as she asked a few questions about the game. Then, she thanked the player for his time and moved on.
Five minutes later, she had talked to six players in various stages of undress, from those still in the jumper and shorts to those only saved from nakedness by towels slung low across their hips. If they were uncomfortable being interviewed by a female, Clark saw no evidence of it. If Lois had even noticed the supremely-ripped male bodies, he saw no evidence of that either.
Perhaps they were just very used to each other - the footballers and the female footy journalist.
Lois and Clark left the cheery chaos of the winners' rooms and went upstairs to a conference room. They stood with other members of the media as first one coach, and then the other, faced the barrage of questions.
That done, Lois led Clark to the other side of the ground, and they entered the much quieter, more sombre atmosphere of the St Kilda rooms. Again, she circulated, asking questions, recording answers.
Then, finally, she turned to him with a smile and said, "Let's get out of here and write this up."
||_||
The Herald Sun office was brightly lit and alive with an energetic and purposeful urgency as the journalists finalised their match reports for tomorrow's edition of the paper. Browny strode the floor of the newsroom, loudly checking the progress of the stories.
When Clark's story about his impressions of the Australian game and Lois's match report had been filed, they walked together to her Jeep.
"Tired?" Lois asked.
"Yeah." He didn't add that he hadn't slept at all the previous night.
"Hungry?" Their evening meal had been a scant and hasty affair as they had driven back to the city from Waverley Park.
"Do you usually eat after you've finished?" Clark asked.
"No," Lois said. "I usually just go home and get to bed as quickly as possible. Tomorrow, we get to do it all again."
"What game do you have?"
"Footscray-Fremantle out at the Western Oval."
"I'm going to Melbourne-Richmond with Banjo," Clark said, realising she would already know but wanting to give some small voice to the disappointment he felt that he would not be with her.
Lois nodded. "I hope you have a great day. There's nothing like the 'G for watching the footy."
She stopped the Jeep at the end of his driveway. "Thanks, Lois," Clark said. "Thanks for everything." He didn't add that what he appreciated most was the hug she had given him so many hours ago - the hug that had eased him from the cloud of death and shown him the way back to life.
"No worries," she said. "See you tomorrow."
She drove away, and Clark walked slowly to his unit, wishing things were different.
Wishing Lois didn't have to leave him.
Wishing he could be with her always.
Wishing she loved him the way he loved her.
