The house buzzed with silence, and slowly, Lois's tension ebbed away.

Then it came again - from below. Not directly below. Sideways. About at the top of the -

Her door flung open. Moyne stood there with his gun aimed directly at her. "Lois," he said. "How lovely to see you again."


Part 13

Her heart plummeted, and her breath stalled.

She prised her gaze from the barrel of the gun and into the crazed triumph radiating from the cold black eyes.

Moyne.

He stepped forward cautiously - leading with the levelled gun - and the stench of stale cigarette smoke wormed into her lungs.

"Nothing to say, huh?" Moyne jeered. "The great Lois Lane - alone, vulnerable, and so scared she can't utter one word."

The cogs of her mind squeezed free from the mesh of panic. Why was Moyne here? Had Scardino sent him? Menzies? Or was he working alone? That was possible; he'd been with Trask when -

Acid self-recrimination rose within Lois. She should have anticipated this possibility. She should have factored Moyne into her decision to bring Clark home.

Except ... "Scardino gave you an assignment," she said, managing to keep her voice steady despite the feeling that her heart was flapping around in the pit of her stomach.

"So you *can* still speak," Moyne said. "For a moment there, I was imagining the alien had performed all manner of heinous acts on you."

Where was Clark? Would he hear her thundering heart? Would he know that she needed him? Why was Moyne here? "Scardino gave you an assignment," she repeated.

"He sent me to a place that is full of career murderers and people way too fond of bombs," Moyne said dismissively. "No way was I going there. And anyway ..." His mouth contorted to a condescending smirk. "... I haven't signed off on my previous assignment yet."

She needed to keep him talking. She needed to prolong this as long as possible in the hope that Clark would come.

"Where's the alien scum?" Moyne said. "Not here, that's for sure. If he were, he would have already charged in to rescue the damsel."

Her gut heaved at Moyne's lack of concern about Clark's possible appearance.

"I can think of an interesting experiment," Moyne continued in the same creepily conversational manner. "I shoot. You scream. It's a race between the animal and the bullet." His eyes dropped to the tip of his weapon. "And this time, my money's on a very different outcome."

Her throat was becoming painfully tight with the need to swallow. But Lois wasn't going to give Moyne the satisfaction of detecting anything that looked like nervousness.

His left hand slipped into the pocket of his brown trousers. "Do you know my motto, Lois?" he said. "Do you know why I'm still alive despite having been given some of the most dangerous assignments that come into the agency?"

He waited. She said nothing.

"This isn't like you, Lois," Moyne said when it had become obvious that she wasn't going to reply. "You had plenty to say in the compound. But no matter. Where were we? Ah, that's right. My motto." He lifted his hand from his pocket. "Always carry insurance." He opened the palm of his hand to reveal a glowing chunk of the Achilles substance.

Lois fought to keep even a trace of alarm from leaking onto her face.

Clark *couldn't* come. She couldn't allow him to come. But how could she keep him away? How could she warn him?

Even if there was a way, he wouldn't heed it.

If Clark knew she was in danger, nothing would keep him away - not even knowing that the poison awaited him.

"So, Lois," Moyne continued as he casually rolled the green substance between his thumb and fingers. "I guess that means you've just shelved all thoughts of whistling for that alien dog you've been training. Pity, that. Oh well, as I always say - three's a crowd." He returned the poison to his pocket.

Lois refocussed on his eyes, staring fixedly as her hand inched towards the edge of the mattress. When the moment came, she needed to be able to leap from the covers.

Moyne didn't seem to notice her movement. "I'm sure the brute has tried to convince you that he didn't kill those poor agents," he said. "It's not true, of course, but I am indebted to him for giving me such a fascinating exhibition of how things are done on his planet. And in the interests of collaborative evidence, I'm sure you'll understand that I need to copy his methods - so that when they find your ripped and mangled body, it will be obvious what happened here."

Perhaps Moyne didn't know that the alien had supposedly died. Or perhaps he did and was bluffing. If they had been anywhere other than Smallville, it might have been worth sticking to the official version of how the operation had ended.

But that wasn't going to work. Not here. Not in Clark's bedroom. Even so, she wasn't going to admit to anything.

"We're alone," she noted, using the cover of the blanket to work the sheet loose from where it was tucked under the mattress. "You don't have a convenient scapegoat this time."

"Oh, Lois," Moyne said with an exaggerated sigh. "You seem to have conveniently forgotten that you abandoned your assignment and escaped with the dangerous prisoner you were supposed to be guarding. No one is going to be surprised when they find your body."

"Forensics will detect that you were here," Lois said.

"For an agent, you have a distressing habit of overlooking the most basic details," Moyne said. "You see, I'm human. And I have friends ... family, even ... in high places - people who want to believe that I could never do anything wrong. So if it comes to my word against an alien monster - a known killer, no less - no one is going to believe him. And sadly, you - his feisty little advocate - will be unable to contribute to his defence."

Moyne's eyes lowered, and Lois's arm froze. However, it wasn't her arm where his eyes stopped, but the middle of her chest.

"Of course," he continued with a rancid smile. "There is a difference this time. You're a woman. And because of that, there are ways to make you suffer before getting to the really fun bit of watching you die."

"If you rape me, they will know," Lois said. "They will run tests and trace it back to you."

"Ah, Lois," he said, shaking his head. "I can play a grieving and distraught lover better than anyone I know."

"No one will *ever* believe that I was with you." She spat the final word at him. His only reaction was a snide smile. "There will be bruising," she continued. "It will look like rape."

"And I have the obvious explanation. Being raped by a vicious alien is going to leave some damage."

Lois opened her mouth, but closed it without voicing her protest.

Moyne sniggered. "I suppose you're hoping that being in the freak's hometown will make a difference. It won't. I realise they are all agog at his return. I heard nothing else all day. In fact, his return caused me to lose the job that was my cover, so instead of watching you for a couple of days while you settle in, I decided to hurry things along so I can get out of this backwater."

He stepped towards the bed, his gun stopping only a few inches from her face.

"Come on, Lois," he goaded. "You promised me a fight. Remember last time? I haven't forgotten. No one crosses Neville Moyne and lives to gloat about it. Ask Phil Deller. Or John Bortolotto." He made a low noise that sounded like his throat was mired in slime. "Ah, that's right. You can't ask them. Just like, after tonight, no one will be able to ask you."

"You won't get away with this," Lois grated.

"That's what Deller said five years ago."

"Shadbolt knows you killed those agents."

"Shadbolt is a washed-up has-been. No one cares what he thinks."

"Scar -" Lois swung her left arm, chopped into his wrist, and the gun flew from his grasp. She scrambled from between the sheets, but just as she freed her feet, Moyne's weight landed heavily on her back, flattening her against the mattress.

A memory infested her mind. Moyne on top of her, his loathsome body pressing her into the concrete. Then, Clark had saved her. Now -

Moyne's hand curled over her shoulder and down her chest. His vile odour pervaded her. The sound of his heavy panting whistled past her ear. She wanted to kick and fight and scratch.

She didn't. She couldn't. Not yet.

His hand reached the top button of her pyjamas. His fingers grappled, but could progress no further.

Lois waited. He had to make the next move. That would be her chance.

His knees slid down - one either side of her hips. His weight eased forward. His hand edged lower.

Lois threw her head backwards and crashed into his face.

She heard a grunt of pain. His hand clawed as it lurched up, and she felt his nails tear across her skin.

Lois squirmed out from under his weight, grabbing the side of the bed to propel herself forward onto the floor. She twisted as she fell, landing on her butt. Moyne's head rose. She pressed her hands into the floor, lifted her body, and swung her foot, just managing to clip the curve of his shoulder as he ducked away.

He turned on her, roaring from a mouth spitting blood. Lois pulled her feet in close to her body and sprang to a standing position. She faced him as he pitched from the bed. She leant forward onto the balls of her feet, poised, watching his eyes to give herself a fraction of a second warning of his movements.

They circled. Moyne dragged his forearm across his mouth, smearing blood on his cheek. Lois tensed, waiting, but his eyes didn't drop to check his sleeve. He stepped towards her. She stepped back, conscious of the wall behind her.

Moyne advanced again.

Lois retreated.

She could almost feel the presence of the wall. She couldn't allow Moyne to corner her.

Moyne's features twisted to a grotesque caricature of sordid anticipation. His eyes slithered down her body, and Lois seized her chance, lunging forward. She jerked her knee upwards - two sharp and forceful jabs - the first into his groin, the second moments later, timed to meet his chin as his body folded in pain from the first blow.

He crumpled to the floor. Lois shoved him backwards and dropped onto his chest, pinning his arms with her knees. She rammed her hand around his throat and looked down into his blood-smeared face. All traces of the swagger had gone, replaced by shock. And pain. And fear.

Inside Lois, something snapped.

Hatred welled, and she tightened her grip, pressing deep into the valleys along Moyne's throat, starving him of oxygen. He struggled frantically and managed to pull one arm from where it had been wedged under her leg. He groped at her arm, her wrist, her hand that was slowly squeezing the life out of him.

But nothing was going to stop her now.

Clark.

Linda.

This was for them.

And nothing less than death would pay for what they had suffered.

The dark room. The sounds of abuse. The smell of blood. The still-warm stickiness of her body. The cell. Clark's beaten body. The wounds carved across his back.

Moyne's efforts weakened.

Lois relaxed her grip slightly - he hadn't suffered enough. Not nearly enough. He had seven years to pay for.

His hand flailed again, finding her arm and grasping it. Pulling at it with a weakening desperation that was strangely satisfying. His eyes opened. Lois stared into them, wanting him to know.

Wanting him to know that this was the end. Wanting him to know that he would pay for what he had done.

"Lo ... isss."

Moyne's eyes snapped sideways at the sound of the new voice. Without any thought, Lois reacted to his movement and pummelled her left fist into his jaw.

"Lo ... isss. D...don't!"

"Shut up, Clark," she snarled in a hard and ugly voice.

"Don't! Pl...ease. Pl...ease ... don't."

"He deserves to die," she said, looking straight at Moyne, wanting to relish his fear.

"But ... but ..." She heard a rough and pain-ridden in-breath. "But you ... you don't ... deserve to kill."

Lois saw ... or perhaps imagined ... a flicker of hope in Moyne's eyes. She released her grip and cannoned her right fist into his face.

His eyes rolled back. His eyelids slid shut. His head drooped to the side.

Lois put her hands - stained with Moyne's blood - on her thighs.

He deserved to die.

But her desire to kill had gone - gone as quickly as it had flared - smothered by the brokenness that was creeping through her body.

Her hands began to shake. Nausea frothed at her throat. She pushed everything aside and forced herself to concentrate only on what needed to be done now.

Clark was slumped in the doorway. Lois swung off Moyne and reached into his pocket for the piece of Achilles. She enfolded it in her hand and shakily rose to her feet as every jellied muscle threatened to buckle. At the door, she stepped over Clark without looking at him.

His hand shot out and grasped her ankle. "Don't ... flush ... it," he wheezed. "S...septic tank."

Lois pulled away from his hold and clumped down the stairs. When she arrived in the kitchen, she looked down to the poison in her hand.

What was she going to do with it?

She summoned her weary brain and demanded one final effort.

Lead. Clark had told her that the walls of the cell were lined with lead. That had protected him from the rods.

Lead. Where could she find some lead?

Lois took a tea towel from the rack and spread it on the table. She quickly rolled it up with the piece of Achilles inside. In the cupboard under the sink, she tied the tea towel around the water pipe, positioning the lump at the back.

She shut the door and dragged her body up the stairs. When she reached the bedroom, Clark was standing, his hands on his knees and his head low. He straightened as she entered and lifted his hand towards her.

"Are you all right?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Yeah." She picked up her bag and took out her cell. She turned it on and pressed the speed dial for Scardino. Moyne was still unconscious. Lois stared at him as she waited for her call to be answered, feeling nothing.

"Lois?" Scardino said, his surprise evident.

"Moyne is here."

"What?" he screeched. "Moyne? Are you all right?"

"You need to come and get Moyne."

"Are you all right? Where are you? Did Moyne hurt you? Did he hurt the ... Mr Kent?"

"We're in Smallville, Kansas," Lois said, battling an eerie feeling that she was watching this scene unfold from a great distance. "You need to come and get Moyne."

"Lois," Scardino breathed. "You're worrying me. What happened?"

"Moyne threatened to rape and kill me."

"Lois!" The gush of his breath hissed through her cell phone. "Did ... did you kill *him*?"

"I wanted to." She heard a sound behind her and turned. Clark had picked up Moyne's gun from the floor. When she turned back to Moyne, he was beginning to stir.

"But he's still alive?" Scardino asked anxiously.

"Yeah. He was unconscious, but he's moving now."

"Lois," Scardino said, sounding distraught. "It's going to take time. Even if I can get a flight tonight, it's going to take a few hours for me to get there."

"What do you want me to do?"

Scardino didn't reply for a few seconds. "Call the local cops," he said. "Tell them to keep him overnight. If they quibble, tell them he is a suspect in two murders. Give them this number and tell them to call me. I'll give them verification."

"What if he tells them -"

"We'll do damage control tomorrow. You can't guard him all night. I can't get there until tomorrow. It's our only option."

"OK." Lois hung up before Scardino could ask any more questions. "Go and call the police," she said to Clark. She took the gun from his hand, never lifting her eyes to his face.

She sank onto the bed and trained the weapon on Moyne.

Clark closed in on her. "Lois," he said. "Are you all right?"

"Go and call the police," she said coldly. "Stay away from the kitchen."

"Are you sure about bringing the police into this? What if -"

"Just go, Clark."

"But -"

"Go!"

He backed away and slid silently from the room.

Lois's eyes did not waver from Moyne. If he even attempted to move from the floor, she was going to put a bullet straight between his eyes.