Disappointment enveloped her as Lois walked out of the nursing home. Was this the Reuben O'Brien who had worked as an agent? How much did he remember? Would the dementia work in her favour and loosen his tongue? Or would it render his information totally unreliable?
It was almost midday when Lois climbed into her Jeep. She had a couple of hours to get to Everglen House and be back in time for her shift. It would be tight.
Perhaps she should leave it and go first thing tomorrow morning.
No. Deep inside her, the feeling was strong that Clark didn't have much time.
Lois reversed out of the parking bay and turned east.
Part 20
Lois waited outside the locked front door for someone to respond to the buzzer. Her initial impression of Everglen House was that it seemed more austere than the familiar atmosphere of her dad's nursing home.
"Yes?" came a tinny voice from the speaker.
"I'd like to visit Mr Reuben O'Brien."
"Are you a family member?"
"No. I'm visiting Metropolis, and my father asked me to call in and see his old friend."
Lois heard a clunk, and a green light appeared next to the speaker. She pushed open the door and proceeded along the short corridor towards the reception area.
The young woman shoved a visitors' book towards Lois. "Sign here, and print your name and address," she said.
Lois took the pen and wrote: 'Linis Aneki, 67 Royal Lane, Altoona, PA.' She added a signature that included no recognisable letters.
As the receptionist examined the latest entry in the visitors' book, Lois's thoughts tumbled back to the hilarity she had shared with Linda whenever they had added to their inventory of names to be used in situations such as this. They had devised numerous aliases over the years, but Linis Aneki - one of their first - was still Lois's favourite.
"He will be in the sunroom," the woman informed Lois. "Through the door and on your left."
"Thank you," Lois said with a synthetic smile.
She walked into a large room where the towering ceilings and elegant decor made it feel more like a showpiece mansion than a home where people lived. To her left, there was a small cosy room with wide south-facing windows. Four people were seated around a large table - three women and one man. Lois entered the room and walked up to the man. "Mr O'Brien?" she asked.
He smiled with warm recognition. "Sit down," he said. "How lovely of you to visit me."
Lois sat next to him. "How are you, Mr O'Brien?"
He chuckled delightedly. "Call me 'Reuben'," he said. "You'll make me feel old if you call me 'Mr O'Brien'."
Lois smiled as hope rose within her. So far, he seemed cognisant. And accommodating. And possibly the Reuben O'Brien who had been in the job.
"What has brought a lovely young lady like you to visit an old man like me?" Reuben asked.
Time was short - Lois didn't feel she had the luxury of building up to this with small talk. "I'm hoping you will be able to answer some questions," she said.
He grinned. "Are you writing a book?" he asked. "If you are, I have a plethora of great stories."
"Oh?" Lois said, adding a smile to her question. "Why is that?"
"Because my life was a series of stories."
Inside, Lois nodded in concurrence. That was a perfect description of the life of an agent - entering into a scenario for a time, playing a role, and then sliding out of it. She leant forward and lowered her voice. "What is your most incredible story?"
Reuben grinned. "Well, there was the time I was invited to dine with the President," he said in a loud whisper.
"Really?" Lois said, hoping she sounded suitably impressed. She checked the three women. None of them seemed to be taking any notice. Perhaps they had heard Reuben's *stories* before.
"You don't have to worry about them," Reuben said with a dismissive nod towards the women. "Two of them are deaf, and the other one wouldn't know her own name."
Even so, Lois would have been more comfortable if she could have been alone with Reuben. However, she didn't want to do anything that might harm her prospects of procuring information. "Anything else?" she said. "Anything truly unbelievable?"
Reuben's forehead wrinkled, and he stared into the distance.
Lois waited, willing him to recall something about the capture seven years ago.
"I have a story about aliens," he said. "Would that qualify as 'truly unbelievable'?"
Aliens! That definitely sounded encouraging. Lois scanned the room. There had been no reaction from the women. "That sounds like a fascinating story," she said. "I would love to hear it."
Reuben beamed. "I'm not sure I'll remember all of it," he said. "My memory isn't what it used to be."
"Tell me what you can remember," Lois said.
He paused through several raspy breaths while Lois held hers. Surely, she couldn't have found Reuben O'Brien only to be thwarted by evaporating memories.
"We captured him," Reuben said.
That was progress. "Why did you capture him?" Lois asked, looking enthralled.
"Because the rest ... were coming."
Uncertainty had crept into his words, and Lois reined in her impatience. She had a strong feeling that she needed to get to the crux quickly, but it was imperative that she try to avoid planting ideas in his mind. "Were they with him when he was captured?"
"The capture was swift and ... " He looked at her questioningly. "Someone was with him?"
"Was someone with him?"
"No," he said. "I don't remember anyone being with him."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"He didn't have any family? Brothers? Sisters? Parents?"
Reuben's head lifted, and his eyes blazed. "Parents! Why didn't you say so? Of course, I remember them."
"What happened to them after he was captured?"
Reuben's eyes glazed over, and his bony fingers tapped an intermittent rhythm on the table.
Lois lightly touched the back of his hand with the pads of her fingers. "What happened to his parents, Reuben?"
He jolted and refocussed on her. "We knew that when the invasion happened, they would be a target. They were American citizens, and despite the ease with which the alien had been able to coerce them into treason, it was our duty to protect them from the wrath of the raiders."
"They were in *protective* custody?"
"Naturally."
Lois quashed her surprise. "Do you know where?"
"That was on a strictly need-to-know basis."
Lois groaned silently at the advent of the too-familiar obstacle. She decided to evade rather than confront. "What do you think happened to them? Are they well?"
Reuben's gaze drifted out of the window.
Lois deepened her contact with his hand. "Do you know if they are all right?"
"The man ..." Reuben sighed, and his mouth slowly closed.
"The man?" Lois prompted.
Reuben's eyes searched for her. "I'm sorry," he said. "What were we talking about?"
"The man," Lois said, trying to smooth the urgency from her voice. "The man who was with the alien when he was captured."
"He died," Reuben stated blankly.
"He died?" Lois gasped.
"Years ago."
"How did he die? Was he ki -"
"Heart attack."
Aww, Clark, Lois thought. I'm sorry. "Are you sure?"
Reuben grinned suddenly. "It's a good story, huh?"
Lois stifled her desire to take his scrawny shoulders and shake the answers from him. "The best stories have an element of truth," she said, hoping she'd managed to keep the impatience from sneaking into her tone.
He nodded as if considering her statement. "Very true, my dear," he said.
"Did the man really die?"
"He was a man of weak will and poor judgement. He should have protected his wife from the schemes of the alien invader. He should have notified the authorities. He should have chosen the safety of his own planet instead of harbouring the vile brute. But he paid a high price for his foolishness."
Lois nodded in agreement, straining to keep her inner turmoil concealed. "That would have avoided a lot of trouble."
"Absolutely right," Reuben said gravely. "But I suppose they were victims, too, in a way. Victims of their country simplicity. Victims of wanting to believe that those of lesser bearing hold to the high human values of justice and truth."
Lois could feel the tirade poised inside her, demanding release. Instead, she smiled - tightly, but with the hope that Reuben would be too engrossed in his story to notice her indignation. "What about the woman?" she asked.
She could hear the barely contained outrage in her voice, but Reuben appeared to be responding to her words and not her tone. "I ... I ... " He slowly rubbed his hand over his cheek. "I seem to remember hearing something about her. I can't recall what."
"Please try," Lois said. "The story isn't complete without knowing what happened to her."
He grinned. "No loose ends, huh?"
"No," Lois said. "No loose ends in the best stories."
"Perhaps she died, too."
"Perhaps?"
"I can't remember," he grated. "It is so frustrating. There was something. She was ill. Or something. No ... perhaps she died."
Anguish for Clark seized her heart. "You're sure she died?" she asked in a small voice.
Reuben hesitated for a stretched moment. "I'm not sure. *Something* happened to her ..."
"Are you sure about the man? Are you sure *he* died?"
"He was a large man, I think. The woman was much smaller."
"Are you sure the man died?"
"Yes," Reuben said firmly. "I'm sure the man died."
"Did you see them? Did you ever visit them?"
"No. I saw photos in the file before it was destroyed."
"The file was destroyed?"
"Yes. We had to ensure that the aliens wouldn't be able to locate them. They were given a new life. Untraceable identities."
"So it was more than protective custody?" Lois asked. "You changed their identities?"
"Of course. If the aliens found them, anything was possible ... captivity, deprivation ... torture. They knew too much."
Lois nodded as the sickening irony crawled through her. Was it worth trying to bring clarification? Or would that just confuse him further? She accepted that she wasn't going to be able to find out anything regarding the location, but she still needed to try to ascertain whether they were alive.
"Do you know where he's buried?"
"No."
"Do you know where she's buried?"
Reuben's long bristly eyebrows rose. "She's dead? The woman is dead?"
"I don't know. What did you hear?"
"I heard the man had passed away. The woman became ill, but I can't remember ..."
Lois waited.
Reuben's eyes - clear and sure - fastened in hers, and Lois held her breath.
"Will you call the nurse, please?" he said. "I'm feeling tired."
A tall thin woman swept through the door of the sunroom. "Thank you for visiting Mr O'Brien," she said crisply. "He is tiring, and he becomes extremely vexed when he can't remember."
Lois stood and smiled down at Reuben. "Thank you for telling me such a wonderful story, Mr O'Brien," she said.
He smiled vacantly. "I'm so glad you enjoyed it, my dear. Perhaps you will come again and listen to more reveries from an old man's imagination."
Lois nodded and retreated from the sunroom. In the corner of the big room, another nurse was busily writing behind an imposing desk. Lois approached her. "I'm Linis Aneki," she said. "My father used to be friends with Mr O'Brien. Thank you for allowing me to visit him."
The nurse looked up. "How was he?"
"Very confused," Lois said, shaking her head. "Is he always so confused?"
"He has moments of clarity, but they are becoming less frequent."
"Does he have many visitors?"
"His family - two sons and a daughter visit regularly."
"How much of what he says is real?"
A sudden smile graced the expression of the nurse. "Did he tell you about the coming alien invasion?" she asked.
Lois nodded.
"Don't worry," the nurse said. "That's his favourite story."
"At the beginning, it sounded so real," Lois said with a sideways glance, as if she half expected the alien army to be storming down the corridor. "But by the end, it was very confused."
"That has been happening a lot lately."
"Did the story used to have a more definite end? The man? The woman? Were they always dead?"
The nurse chuckled, and - Lois reflected - she would probably never realise how totally inappropriate was her response. "He's killed the woman, too, has he?"
"So the story doesn't always end with her death?"
"No. Usually, she's living happily ever after in her new identity."
"And the man?"
"Reuben always killed off the man." The nurse tapped her nose. "If you ask me, I think Mr O'Brien has a bit of the thing for the woman. In his mind, of course."
"He seemed so sure the man was dead."
"He is always sure," the nurse said. "The story has grown over the months he has been here. At first, he would make odd comments and then stop mid-sentence as if he hadn't devised the next bit yet. Slowly, he added more detail - the human couple who adopted the alien baby, the certainty of an alien invasion, the necessity to protect the parents."
"So ... no one believes him?"
The nurse chuckled. "An *alien*? Who looked *exactly* like a human? And was sent to Earth as a baby to lead an attack on all humanity? Who would believe *that*?"
"How did he know it was an alien if it looked just like the rest of us?"
"Reuben hasn't filled in that detail yet." She smiled. "Perhaps that's coming next."
"It's sad, isn't it?" Lois mused.
"It's very sad. I believe Mr O'Brien was a very successful businessman. Now, he's reduced to telling stories about aliens."
"Thank you again," Lois said. She walked past the woman in reception and out into the sunshine, her mind in turmoil.
How much of what Reuben said was truth, and how much was the product of a mind slipping into confusion?
Some of his story was accurate. The baby. The farmers. The capture. Where was the line where fact became fantasy?
*Had* Clark's father died? It seemed likely.
And what had happened to his mother?
||_||
Lois let herself into the compound and hurried up the stairs before Shadbolt could come out of the staffroom. Once in her office - with the door locked behind her - she went to the window. "Clark?" she said under her breath.
He looked up immediately from where he was writing on the notepad resting on his raised knee. He put it down and stood up.
"Were you able to fix the sewing machine?" Lois asked.
He nodded and pointed to behind the half-wall.
"I'll be there in a minute."
She hurried down the stairs, and Shadbolt jumped from the seat. "What's happening with my daughter's sewing machine?" he asked.
"It's fixed and ready for you to pick up," Lois said as she walked to the coffee machine and began pouring herself a drink.
"Where is it?"
"Do you know the arcade off Westborough Street?"
"Yes."
"My friend works in the sewing store there. I had to go over to the east side of the city this morning, and I didn't have any time to go and get it. But I called him, and it's ready. Can you go?"
Shadbolt glanced at his watch. "I have to pick up my daughter in less than an hour."
"Go now," Lois urged. "The guy's name is Angus. Ask for him."
"Are you sure it's OK if I leave now? It's not two o'clock yet."
"Yup."
"Thanks."
Shadbolt left the compound. Lois waited a few moments, although she was reasonably sure that he would be too concerned about the sewing machine to return to the compound unexpectedly. She opened the door to the cell. Clark was there, holding the put-back-together sewing machine.
"Hi," she said. "What was wrong with it?"
"A couple of broken wires."
"Did it take you long to fix?"
"About thirty seconds. It took about five minutes to put it back together again, though." He deposited it at the doorway.
Lois lifted it onto the staffroom table and plugged in the power cord. The little light came on, and she looked sideways at Clark. "What happens now?" she said.
"You need to connect the pedal." He pointed to the bed on the far side of the room.
Lois connected the pedal to the machine.
"Press down on the pedal," Clark advised from the doorway. "Lightly."
She did. The machine sprang to life, and the needle whirred up and down. Lois lifted her foot and looked through the door to Clark. "Great job," she said. She took her cell phone from her bag. "I'll just be a minute."
Back in her office, she found the paper where Trask had written details of the assistants, and she punched in Shadbolt's number. He answered a few seconds later.
"Evan Shadbolt."
"Shadbolt," Lois said. "It's Lois Lane. There's been a misunderstanding. Angus just delivered the sewing machine to the compound."
"It's there?"
"Yup. It's here."
"Is it OK?"
"Better than OK. Angus said it was just a few loose wires. He fixed it, and it's all ready to go."
"I'll be there in five minutes."
"OK," Lois said. "See you then." She sprinted down the stairs to where Clark was waiting on the other side of the doorway. "Shadbolt will be back to get the sewing machine. When he's gone, we'll have lunch."
"OK."
"I have to shut the door," she said. "Sorry."
"I know," he said in that quiet voice that always caused mayhem in her heart. "I'll be waiting for you."
Five minutes later, Shadbolt came through the external door like a tornado, and his eyes leapt to the machine. His urgency dissipated, and he moved towards it in a more circumspect manner, eyeing it as if he couldn't quite believe that it had been rebuilt. He reached for the pedal with his toe and smiled with relief when the machine responded. "Your friend is a miracle worker," he said. "How does he want to be paid? Will he send a bill?"
"He said not to worry about it," Lois said. "It only took him a few minutes."
"You sure?"
Lois shrugged. "That's what he said."
Shadbolt shot another glance at the machine. "How did he manage to put it all back together again?"
"Don't know," Lois said nonchalantly. "But it's all ready for you to take, and your daughter will be able to get her project done."
"Thank you," Shadbolt said with obvious gratitude. "This is really important. It's a part of her portfolio for entrance into college. She has her heart set on getting into fashion design."
"Creative young lady," Lois commented.
Shadbolt disconnected the power cord. "Thank you," he said again. "I had given up hope."
"Why didn't you take it to someone?" Lois asked. "Why did you try to fix it yourself?"
"It stopped working late last night. There aren't too many repairers open before six in the morning."
"You could have called and asked me to stay a bit longer," Lois said with mild reproof.
He shrugged. "I didn't think about that."
Lois smiled. "Or did you just not want anyone to know that you have daughters?"
"I keep my home and my job separate."
"Yes, but it's hardly a national secret that you have two daughters," Lois said pragmatically. "And now that I know, should you need to miss a shift - if one of the girls is sick - it won't be a problem."
Shadbolt picked up the sewing machine. "Thanks," he said again.
"I hope your daughter's project goes well," Lois said.
He nodded. "Bye."
"Bye, Evan."
A half smile almost escaped before Shadbolt turned and hurried through the door.
||_||
Clark couldn't help feeling on edge as he awaited Lois's return.
Something was wrong. He'd known the moment she had unlocked the door and walked into the prison. She hadn't been able to meet his eyes. She hadn't looked at him.
What had she discovered?
What had they told her?
Had Menzies ordered that she be replaced?
Clark knew that Shadbolt was coming back. That explained her haste. It didn't explain why she wouldn't look at him.
Had something happened to her father?
Or had she discovered something about his parents?
And what did the sewing machine have to do with anything?
She'd only been gone a few hours, but something had changed.
Something was wrong.
And Clark couldn't control the fear clawing at his heart.
||_||
Lois waited at the external door. Shadbolt's motor started, and Lois tracked the noise of his engine until all trace of it had faded away.
She could no longer put off deciding what to do. She had toyed - very briefly - with the idea of not telling Clark what Reuben O'Brien had told her. But Clark would ask. And although she was a consummate liar when she needed to be, she didn't like lying to people she cared about.
She wasn't sure that her information was correct.
And yet ...
Her gut said that Reuben had been telling the truth about Jonathan Kent.
If Jonathan were dead, Clark was going to find out one day.
She had to tell him.
If she didn't, it was going to develop into a barrier between them. Clark would wonder why she had suddenly closed up. He would detect her evasiveness. And, being Clark, he would probably decide that he was the cause.
She couldn't allow that to happen.
She had to be honest. Even if she hurt him. Even if Reuben's information was wrong, Lois had to tell Clark what he had said.
Their relationship - whatever it was - had to be built on trust.
She couldn't lie to him.
She couldn't.
But she hated the thought of hurting him. He had been hurt so much already.
She would do anything to protect him from further pain.
But if his father had passed away ... there was nothing she could do to save him.
Lois checked that the external door was locked, and with heavy steps, she went into the staffroom.
She had to tell Clark - and she had to tell him now. They had eight hours before Longford was due. She had to do it now.
She couldn't stay away from Clark, and she couldn't go in to him and pretend everything was all right. She had to tell him now.
Even though she knew it was going to hurt him.
From her bag on the chair came the sound of her cell phone. She considered not answering - except it could be about her dad. And she didn't want repeated calls interrupting her time with Clark.
She picked up her cell phone and saw it was the number of her dad's nursing home. Sudden tension squeezed her heart. "Lois Lane."
"Lois." She recognised Ronny's voice. There was nothing in her tone to suggest a problem.
"Ronny," Lois said. "Is Dad all right?"
"Sam had a wonderful morning, Lois," Ronny enthused. "He's almost finished the first puzzle. I'm calling to ask if it would be possible for you to bring in some more."
"He's almost finished?" Lois gasped.
"Yup," Ronny said triumphantly. "When I went into his room, he was totally engrossed."
"When I was there, he was struggling to pick up the pieces."
"Yeah," Ronny agreed. "But we have thin corrugated foam that makes it easier to grasp things, so I put the single pieces on that."
"Oh," Lois said. "Thanks, Ronny. That's great."
"The wooden tray is perfect," Ronny enthused. "Did you buy it or make it?"
"A friend of mine made it."
"Is there any chance your friend would be willing to make some more for the nursing home's general use?"
"Ah ... yeah," Lois said. "That shouldn't be a problem."
"We'll pay for them - whatever's fair for materials and labour."
"OK. How many?"
"Six? Could your friend manage to make six?"
"That should be fine," Lois said. "I'll check with him."
"Thanks, Lois. See you soon."
"Bye, Ronny. Thanks for calling me."
Lois replaced the cell in her bag. Was it too much to hope that giving Clark something to do would ease his pain? Just a little?
Lois didn't know.
Her only experience of the death of someone she loved was Linda.
And that death had been so draped in horror that Lois didn't know if her feelings were typical. She had been shocked, and angry, and guilty, and traumatised. And she had had to stifle her mourning in the effort to survive.
Clark would have hours and hours to think about it.
And he *still* wouldn't know for sure.
Did that make it easier? Or harder?
Either way, she needed to tell him. And she needed to do it now.
And then, she needed to find a way to help him. To be there for him.
||_||
Clark sat against the back wall, one knee bent, his arm lying listlessly across it.
As each minute passed, he became more convinced that something was wrong.
Lois hadn't come back into his cell.
He wouldn't listen through the walls. He wouldn't.
Why hadn't she come back to him? Was she avoiding him? Or was she avoiding having to tell him something?
Was she leaving him?
The lock clicked, and Clark sprang to his feet. He waited against the wall - not moving towards the door.
It opened, and Lois appeared. She dragged a chair forward and wedged it against the door.
Then she slowly turned to him.
It was there on her face ... in her eyes that still wouldn't look at him.
Something was wrong.
Clark pushed off the wall and walked towards her, his eyes glued to her face. "Lois?" he said in a voice that sounded less substantial than the first time he'd spoken to her.
Her eyes were burning with something that reached inside him and incited his fears.
He couldn't wait any longer. "Are you leaving?"
Surprise spread over her face, and she quickened her steps towards him. When she reached him, her hand curved around his upper arm and stayed there. Her eyes converged with his. "No, Clark," she said. "I'm not leaving."
Lois *wasn't* leaving. "Then what's wrong?"
"I found Reuben O'Brien."
A tidal wave of awareness swept over him, and the world reeled as the horror of his fears assaulted him anew. Lois put both hands on his shoulders, stabilising him. He scanned her face, and he knew.
His parents.
"Tell me," Clark gasped.
"Clark, you need to understand that O'Brien is in the early stages of dementia."
"What did he say?"
Her chin wobbled. "Your dad," she said in a quiet voice.
His dad? Did that mean his mother was all right? Did that mean they hadn't both been killed? "Dad?" he gulped.
"I'm so sorry, Clark."
"What did he say?"
"He said that your father passed away."
Memories swarmed into Clark's mind. Memories of the man who had been the only father he'd known. The quiet farmer who'd taken in a strange child, loved him, raised him, taught him ... and then been repaid with suffering.
"O'Brien told it like it was a story he'd made up," Lois said. "But he said some things that were accurate - he talked about a baby who was raised by farmers. The nurse said that his story varies a bit ..." Her fingers splayed along Clark's neck - just below his hairline. "... but that the man - the father - always dies."
Clark gulped. "How? Did ... did they k...kill him?"
"No," Lois said gently. "Reuben said it was a heart attack."
"And Mom?"
"He said that they were both taken into protective custody. He said they were given new identities to protect them from being found by the alien invaders. He was really confused about your mom. The story kept changing."
Chaotic fragments of thoughts zigzagged through Clark's brain. If this were true ... if no one had hurt his parents ... That was better than he had ever dared to hope. But if his dad had passed away ... his mom would be alone.
Lois slid her arms further around his neck and drew him into her embrace, as if she had tracked the passage of his thoughts and known instinctively how to be what he needed. Her forehead nestled into the side of his neck, and her head lay on his shoulder.
Clark wrapped his arms around her back and clung to her.
He let her presence surround him.
Let her pervade him.
Let everything that was Lois answer the cry of his heart.
And, for the first time in his life, Clark didn't feel alone.
