In the cell, the prisoner hadn't moved.
His shoulders were slumped. His hands were lying listlessly on his thighs.
Either the communication between them had to stop ...
... Or she had to ensure that Scardino believed it had stopped ... And keep Shadbolt and Longford from suspecting it had started.
Lois gave a small smile. Work in secret? Maintain a pretence to hide what she was really doing? Lie when necessary? Appear detached? She could do that.
She walked out of her office and retrieved her bedding from the landing.
Then she went downstairs to await the arrival of their meals.
Part 3
Lois had been waiting outside for five minutes when Uncle Mike's delivery guy arrived with the meals. She accepted them and hurried back to the staffroom as quickly as her still-tender ankle would allow.
She lifted the lid of the container. It was a pasta dish - a creamy chicken sauce redolent with a rich, tangy aroma.
Back in the staffroom, Lois gave Longford the rod she had brought from her office, unlocked the cell door, and peeped around the corner.
Mr Kent hadn't moved from his position against the back wall. However, his head was turned in her direction. His face was deadpan, but some of his air of abject hopelessness had lifted.
Lois put the hot container on the floor and added a new bottle of water. Then, she turned back to Longford and raised her hand. "Pass me a fork," she said.
"A fork?" he replied with a level of incredulity that wouldn't have seemed out of place if she'd asked for a machine gun.
"Yes," she said urgently. "A fork."
He took one from the tray on the counter and gave it to her.
Lois placed it on top of the container and looked at Mr Kent.
Their eyes met.
His fingers unfurled in greeting.
Lois lifted her hand a few inches in response.
Then she stood and retreated into the staffroom. She shut and locked the door. "Thanks," she said to Longford. "You can go home now."
He handed her the rod, but didn't move towards the door. "Ms Lane?" he said.
Was he going comment about her treatment of the prisoner? "Yes, Longford?"
"I wasn't being difficult about not doing the shift tonight. My mother has an appointment with a specialist tomorrow, and she is staying at my apartment. She would be nervous being alone overnight in the big city."
"That's fine, Longford," Lois said. "Thank you for explaining. Will you be able to do your shift tomorrow night?"
"Yes," he said, looking relieved. "I will take my mother home tomorrow morning after her appointment and be back in Metropolis well before my shift starts."
"I hope your mother does well," Lois said. "Good night, Longford."
"Thank you. Good night, Ms Lane."
He walked out of the staffroom and into the dark of the night. Lois took the rod to her office and hurried to the window.
Mr Kent was eating.
He was using the fork with deftness - she wouldn't have expected anything less.
He was hungry.
She was, too.
Lois lifted the lid of her container and inhaled appreciatively.
As she drove the fork into the pasta, she couldn't help thinking about what it must have been like to receive food only once a day - and for that food to be a cold, disgusting mess.
Tomorrow, she had to remember to call the caterers and cancel the orders.
From now on, both she and Mr Kent would be eating Uncle Mike's food.
She finished her meal about the same time as Mr Kent finished his. He returned the lid to the empty container and then used some water from the bottle to wash the fork. He placed the container next to the door and put the clean fork on top.
Lois picked up a pen and hovered above the notepad.
She wanted to write something, but what?
'Mr Kent:'
Good. That was nicely formal.
'Sorry for'
No. She ripped the paper from the pad, tore it into little pieces, and threw it into the trashcan.
'Mr Kent:
The unfortunate incident this morning caused several disruptions to the routine today. Moyne has been permanently removed from this operation.'
"So, you no longer have to worry about being bashed in the middle of the night," she muttered.
Lois chewed on the end of the pen as she read the words she had written. She had so many questions she wanted to ask him.
What really happened when Deller and Bortolotto died?
How did you survive seven years of Trask's abuse?
Are you an alien?
Did you take the bullet Moyne meant for me?
Why didn't you escape when the door was open?
Do you intend to take over the Earth and kill all humans?
Why don't you speak? What did they do to you?
Can I trust you?
Lois tapped the pen on her desk.
Could she trust him?
That was more important than all the other questions put together. If she couldn't trust him, nothing else had relevance.
She looked up to where Mr Kent was again reading one of the editions of the Daily Planet. She needed to remember to get tomorrow's edition and give it to him.
A sudden vision flashed into her mind.
Mr Kent, reading the paper, drinking coffee ... and munching on a chocolate bar.
She folded the vision into a box in her brain and firmly closed the lid.
Giving him candy definitely crossed the line.
So far, she had done nothing more than take reasonable care of someone who was her responsibility. She would have done the same for a dog.
But *chocolate*?
That was indulgent.
Fun, though.
How would he react?
Did he like chocolate?
Stupid question.
*Everyone* liked chocolate.
It would mean unlocking the door when no one else was here.
Was she willing to do that?
She'd told Shadbolt that it didn't concern her.
Did it?
She looked again at Mr Kent.
When was the last time he'd spent an evening reading the paper, drinking coffee, and eating chocolate?
At least seven years ago - she knew that for sure.
Had he spent quiet evenings with his parents?
If she made him a cup of coffee, she could give him the note.
She should just go to bed. It was after ten-thirty.
But she wasn't tired at all. And she knew too well the perils of trying to sleep before her mind was ready to succumb to exhaustion.
Coffee ... was a dumb idea.
It was too late.
But tea?
Did he drink tea?
Before her mind could descend further into the whirlwind of indecision, she stood abruptly. She picked up the unsigned note and pulled one of the Snickers bars out of her bag.
She went down the stairs, being careful to tread gingerly on her sore ankle. She set the kettle on the stove to boil, put a tea bag in each of two mugs, and waited.
This was silly.
But she was alone.
With him.
Mr Kent.
Who had saved her life this morning.
That was it - he'd saved her life this morning. This was nothing more than a way to express her gratitude.
If he hadn't stepped in, neither of them would be drinking tea or eating chocolate tonight.
The kettle boiled, and Lois poured the water into the mugs.
How did he have his tea?
After all these years, he probably had it however she gave it to him.
Milk?
Sugar?
Strong?
Weak?
She removed the bags when the tea was of moderate strength and then added milk to both mugs.
She hesitated over the sugar. She never used it, but Linda had liked two teaspoons in her tea. On the occasions when Lois had accidentally picked up her partner's drink, she had almost gagged at the taste.
No sugar, she decided.
She looked at the door and removed the keys from her pocket.
All the rods were still in her office.
She should go up there and get one.
She fidgeted with the keys.
It would take a minute to get a rod ... perhaps two ... climbing the stairs was still a laborious process.
She could have the door open; the tea, the chocolate bar, and the note in there; and the door locked in less time than it would take to get the rod.
While she was wallowing in uncertainty, the tea was getting cold.
Lois put everything within easy reach and thrust the key into the lock.
She turned the key, pushed the door a few inches, put the tea on the floor so roughly that a little slopped onto the concrete, dropped the chocolate bar next to it, and added the note.
She straightened, slammed the door, and locked it.
Her heart felt like it had a herd of buffalo rollicking through it.
Lois picked up her tea and eagerly climbed the stairs, ignoring the objections from her ankle.
When she arrived at the window, Mr Kent was walking across the cell - approaching the door with caution.
When he reached it, he crouched there - right next to the door - and picked up the note. After he'd read it, his head turned towards the window. He lifted his arm and waved in her direction.
His attention returned to the floor, and he picked up the chocolate bar.
He held it in both hands and stared.
Much to Lois's frustration, she couldn't see his face clearly. She had wanted to share in his reaction. Then his head turned, and he looked up.
From the midst of his scrubby facial hair, she saw movement.
A smile?
It was brief.
Fleeting.
But his mouth had appeared to move.
And it *could* have been a smile.
Lois found herself answering him.
Even if *he* hadn't smiled, *she* was smiling.
He picked up his cup of tea and took it back to the place against the wall where he had been sitting.
He read the newspaper.
He sipped the tea.
He slowly and luxuriously nibbled the chocolate bar.
Lois sipped her tea.
Nibbled at her chocolate bar.
And watched him.
||_||
The nightmare was back.
She screamed.
Hauled in a breath and screamed again.
Her eyes shot open.
Where was she?
She wasn't in her bedroom.
Where was she?
It wasn't dark - there was light behind her.
She couldn't be back in the room where he had killed Linda. That had been black.
Where was she?
She turned towards the light ... and realisation seeped through her.
She was in her office.
She was guarding Mr Kent.
Lois stood from the mattress on the floor and looked into the cell.
He was sitting up. He was looking directly at the window.
Had he heard her screams?
He looked concerned.
Unsure.
Suddenly, he leapt to his feet and rushed to the newspapers. He picked up one and began ripping it into strips.
He placed the strips on the floor.
A word appeared - written in roughly torn newspaper strips positioned on a concrete floor.
ARE
He moved to the right and continued.
YOU
Lois could easily guess what would be next.
OK
Yes, she was OK. But did she want to admit to the nightmare? Even if she didn't go into details - which she most certainly wouldn't - did she want him to know that she had her own demons that haunted her?
No, she didn't.
She didn't want him to know about her weaknesses. Her insecurities. Her pain.
She didn't want anyone to know about them.
She hadn't admitted them to Scardino. When the shrink had probed, Lois had insisted that she enjoyed long and uninterrupted sleep every night.
She wasn't about to start unburdening to a prisoner who must already have more than his share of nightmare material.
She took the pen from the desk and scribbled on the notepad.
'I'm fine.' Then she added, 'Go to sleep.'
She took the note down the stairs, opened the door, and slid the piece of paper into the cell. The mug was there - she grabbed it, stepped back, and then shut and locked the door.
Inside the mug was the Snickers wrapper.
Lois put the cup on the drainer and took the wrapper upstairs to deposit in her own trashcan.
When she arrived back at the window, Mr Kent was already standing by the door and reading her note.
He put it in his pocket, waved towards the window, and returned to the place on the floor where he usually chose to sleep.
He lay down, shuffled a bit, and then settled to stillness.
Lois watched the steady rise and fall of his breaths as the creeping claws of the nightmare slowly receded from her mind.
||_||
He lay on the concrete, facing away from the window.
The window that hid her from his sight.
She'd brought him tea. And a chocolate bar.
Chocolate!
If he had to list the top one hundred things he had pined for most, chocolate wouldn't have made the list.
Tea would have been there, but not chocolate.
And yet ... it was the chocolate that had gripped his heart and pushed a lump into his throat as he had pretended to read the paper.
She'd given him chocolate!
It was such a normal ... extravagant ... sweet ... totally unexpected thing to do.
He might never taste chocolate again. But if he did, he knew it would always cause heady memories of her.
After he'd finished his cup of tea and the chocolate bar, he'd washed the cup, brushed his teeth, and settled onto the concrete to sleep.
Moyne was gone. Forever.
That knowledge rolled through him over and over again, each time bringing fresh relief.
Trask was gone.
Moyne was gone.
Suddenly, from a place of no hope, there was hope.
From a place of abject terror, there was mercy.
From a place of dread, there was compassion.
From a place of darkness, there was light.
And it was because of her.
It *was* her.
He didn't know her name.
When she'd opened the door, she'd waved to him. The next time, she'd responded to his wave.
What did she believe about him?
Did she believe he was a savage brute?
Did she believe he had killed?
Did she believe he deserved to be caged like an animal because he wasn't human?
Her actions suggested that she didn't despise him.
Did she pity him? Did she think of him as she would think of a pet?
He tried to go to sleep ... but it was so hard not to think about how the events of today would affect his future.
For so long, he hadn't permitted himself to think about the future. Surviving each day had been difficult enough ... to think ahead to the endless years of torment ... to dwell on what was to come ...
But now ...
He was pragmatic enough to know that the extent of his hope was that life would become bearable. That the exposure to the poison would be minimised. That he would be spared the regular beatings. That he wouldn't have to endure constant hunger and thirst. That he would be given sufficient water to clean himself.
There was no hope of freedom. He knew that. There was no hope of a normal life.
They knew too much about him. About what he could do.
But if she stayed, her presence would shine a light into his cell - a clear, warm, soothing light.
Which birthed a new fear.
What if she left?
She'd brought him a cup of tea.
Tea!
He hadn't tasted tea for seven years.
He had drunk numerous cups of tea in his mom's kitchen.
Usually accompanied by her homemade chocolate chip cookies.
Since his capture, he hadn't been able to think about his parents without pain slicing through his insides.
Tonight, even that had been different.
The fear, the sorrow ... both of those emotions were still there ... but they had been assuaged by hope. She was going to try to find out what had happened to his parents.
He'd been thinking about that earlier when the scream had pierced the silence.
His immediate thought was that Moyne had come back.
Come back to finish what he'd started that morning.
The screams had stopped, and he'd strained to hear. He'd closed his eyes, centred every ounce of concentration onto her ... and had picked up the muffled roar of her heartbeat. It was tearing along at a frenetic pace, but he couldn't hear any other sounds. No low and menacing words, no thumps of violence.
He'd doubted she would respond, but he'd had to try to find out if she were all right.
He couldn't just lie there, not knowing.
He'd laid the strips of newspaper on the floor.
Would she see them?
Would she bother replying?
She had. She'd given him no explanation, but he hadn't needed that. All he'd needed to know was that she was OK.
That Moyne hadn't come back.
Perhaps her screams were due to a nightmare.
He closed his eyes ... and listened intently.
Her breathing was regular.
Her heartbeat was a low, steady murmur.
She was OK.
His relief was profound ... because he knew with awful certainty that he was powerless to protect her.
While they had the poison, he would always be powerless to protect her.
Then a harsh, cruel thought occurred to him, and his heart felt like it wanted to curl up and die.
What if the nightmare had been about him?
What if - in her dreams - he had done something to her ... something brutal ... something savage? Something that had scared her so badly, she had screamed with terror?
What if being forced into his cell had brought to life all the stories she had been told? Things they said he was capable of doing? More than capable ... things that were innate to him ... inborn.
What if - in her dreams - *he* was the monster?
||_||
~~ Saturday ~~
Lois awoke the next morning and was surprised to discover that - after the nightmare - she had fallen asleep quickly and slept peacefully.
She slipped from her sleeping bag and checked on Mr Kent.
He was kneeling in the far corner of the cell - facing away from her. Naked.
What was he doing?
She scanned the cell and noticed the bowl was missing.
Then she realised.
He must be washing his shorts.
Without glancing back to the corner, she turned away and checked the clock. It was twenty to six. She should slip down to the bathroom before Shadbolt arrived.
Her ankle had improved enough that she was confident she would be able to walk into the nursing home without eliciting any questions.
If anyone noticed her face, she would fall back on the old excuse of running into a door.
Her thoughts returned to the previous evening.
She'd given him chocolate!
Lois shook her head.
What had she been thinking?
Despite the sleeping bag and the camp mattress, this *wasn't* a camp for giggly, chocolate-devouring Girl Scouts.
This was her job.
She needed to remember that.
Ten minutes later, Shadbolt came through the door as Lois was making the coffee. He plonked two paper bags on the table with a grunt.
Lois turned from the coffee machine. "What are they?" she asked casually.
"Breakfast," he grunted. "And lunch."
"Your breakfast?"
"No. I've had mine. They're for the alien." The look on his face told her that if she made a fuss, he would never do anything like this again.
"Thanks," she said.
"I figured that now I'm only working eight hours a day ... " He picked up one bag. "This can be his lunch."
"What is it?" Lois said, trying to make her question sound like interest and not mistrust.
"Nothing much. Ham and cheese sandwich."
"Thanks," Lois said. "When the coffee is made, you can give him the breakfast."
Shadbolt put one bag in the fridge. "You want me to give it to him?"
"If that's OK," Lois said. "I'll hold the rod and pass you the stuff."
Shadbolt shrugged. "Do you want me to get the rod from your office?"
"Yes, please."
When the coffee had brewed, Lois unlocked the door and held the rod while Shadbolt put one paper bag - containing another toasted bacon and egg sandwich - on the floor of the cell. He added the cup of coffee and retreated quickly.
"Thanks," Lois said as she locked the door. "I'll be back at two, and we'll give him lunch then."
She paused long enough to give Shadbolt the opportunity to ask about having access to a cell key and a rod, but he made himself a cup of coffee without comment.
"See you later," she said.
"Bye."
Lois took the rod to her office. She rolled up the bedding and stashed it under her desk in case she needed to do the night shift again.
After a final glance into the cell - Mr Kent was eating his breakfast - she turned on the camera and left the compound.
||_||
Lois stopped at her apartment for a shower and then drove to the nursing home.
As she walked in the door, she was greeted by Veronica. "Ms Lane," she said cheerily. "I'm so glad you're here."
"What's wrong?" Lois said quickly.
"Nothing's wrong," the nurse replied. "I got your dad up first this morning because there was a note saying that you would visit." She smiled. "I'm glad he doesn't have to wait - I think he's looking forward to seeing you."
That her father could look forward to anything seemed highly optimistic to Lois. However, she didn't comment as she turned towards his room.
"Ms Lane?"
"Yes?"
"Does your dad own any sweatpants?"
"Ah ... no," Lois said. "He was more a tweed jacket type of guy."
"We're going to see how he copes with being out of bed for a few hours each day," Veronica said. "It might be nice for him to be able to get dressed. Wearing pyjamas during the day is so depressing."
Lois's instinctive reaction was that it was a lot of extra bother for very little benefit, but Veronica's earnestness stopped her from voicing her doubts. "Would you like me to get him some casual clothes?" Lois asked.
"That would be wonderful," Veronica said with a happy smile. "Something smart but loose enough that he can do his physiotherapy."
Lois nodded. "I'll bring something next time I visit."
"You're a sweetie," Veronica said. "Sam is lucky to have you."
The 'sweetie' grated a bit, but Lois couldn't deny that it felt good to have someone appreciate her efforts.
She walked through the common area, trying not to catch the eye of the few residents as they sat in the chairs and watched the Wizard of Oz on the television. She swung into her dad's room and smiled across to where he was sitting up in bed. "How're you doing, Dad?" she asked.
She pulled up the chair and sat next to him. His head turned in her direction. She took his hand in hers and looked into his eyes. She resisted the compulsion to speak. She just looked into his eyes and waited ... perhaps it would be possible to communicate without words.
Her dad's gaze wavered a little, but when it settled in hers, Lois felt a whisper of recognition. Deep in his eyes, she could almost find her dad ... the man who had come - sometimes - to her school concerts. The man who had always told her that she could do anything she wanted to. The man who hadn't tried to hide his disappointment when she'd told him she was going to work as a singer on a cruise ship. "Lois Lane," he'd said. "You can do so much better than dress up like a streetwalker and warble to overindulged, overfed passengers on a floating hotel going nowhere."
In her heart, Lois had agreed. But she couldn't tell him that. Not then. Not now.
Without breaking the link of their eyes, Lois said, "I've started a new job, Dad. I'm not working on the ship anymore."
It was entirely possible that she imagined the tiny gleam in her dad's eyes. But it *felt* like he'd answered. Felt like he'd voiced his approval.
"I'm working with a man from another place. I think he knows a lot, but there's a ... a language barrier. He's very fit, and he loves to run. And he misses his parents a lot."
Her dad's fingers twitched around her hand.
"Anyway, I have my own office, upstairs. It has a big window, and he's in the room next door. Yesterday, I got this little graze on my cheek - it's nothing serious, I should have been more careful - and he gave me some antiseptic ointment for it.
"I wasn't expecting to enjoy the new job, Dad. I didn't think it would be very interesting, but I'm learning more than I thought I would. There are other people there. One man has a prosthetic leg. He got shot and was too far away from a hospital to save the leg."
He dad *could* have been listening. His eyes hadn't moved from her face.
"We had a bit of excitement yesterday, Dad. One of the men at my work - I didn't like him right from the start. He had shifty eyes. I didn't trust him, and I thought he might be bullying the man from the other place. Yesterday, they caught him, and he was dismissed. It's going to be a much better place to work now that he's gone. I think the foreign man will be much happier, too."
Her dad's mouth twitched. Lois smiled.
"You always did say that I talk too much, Dad," she said. "Remember how you used to say, 'Lois, if you were to actually stop to draw breath, someone else might get a chance to use their mouth, too'?"
Impulsively, Lois leant forward and dropped a kiss on her dad's cheek.
"After our visit, I'm going shopping, Dad. I'll buy you some new clothes. They want you to start getting out of bed during the day. Do you mind if I get you some bright colours? Perhaps some greens or blues? Or a sweater in fiery red? This place could use a bit of colour. You could brighten it up a bit."
Lois looked directly into his eyes and smiled. Perhaps he smiled back - not with his mouth, but with his eyes.
"Uncle Mike will be in to see you soon, Dad," Lois said. "I'm going to leave now so I can get to the store before my shift starts at two o'clock." She stood, slowly eased from his grasp, and replaced the chair in the corner.
"I love you, Dad," she said. "I'll be back tomorrow."
Lois kissed him again and then walked out of her dad's room. She was halfway across the common area when she saw Uncle Mike. He hurried over to her, and she slipped into his embrace.
"How are you, Lois?" he asked as he drew back. His hands stayed on her shoulders, and he examined her face. "What happened?"
"Carelessness," she replied. "It's nothing."
He looked closer for a moment, and then his eyes lifted. "Did you get the meals last night?"
"Yes, thanks," Lois said, glad the subject of her injured face had been passed over so easily. "My friend loved your cooking. Could we order two meals from now on?"
"What time? Nine-thirty? Or back to six-fifteen?"
"Six o'clock would be wonderful," Lois said. "Keep the tab, and I'll come in every Sunday to pay you, and we'll have lunch together."
Uncle Mike beamed. "Aw, Lois love, it'll be great to see you regularly." His hand lifted from her shoulder and pointed at her. "It's a date. Sunday lunch. Every week. My place."
Lois smiled. "Thanks, Uncle Mike. It was lovely to see you."
"We'll catch up properly tomorrow."
She nodded, gave him a kiss, and walked out of the nursing home - and for the first time ever, it didn't feel like she was running away.
