Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic Trusting Me, Trusting You 3:Trail (14/?)

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.


Part 14

Clark picked up the phone and tentatively placed it next to his ear. It was connected. Perhaps Rachel had seen to that, too. The number for the Smallville Sheriff's Office was written - in his mom's handwriting - on a piece of yellowing paper stuck to the wall.

He dialled and waited.

"Smallville Sheriff's Office." The voice was male.

"Could ... could I speak to ..." He remembered her badge. "... Sheriff Rachel Harris?" he asked. "Please?"

"Who's speaking?"

"Clark ... Clark Kent."

"I'll put you through."

"Thank you," he breathed. His relief at surmounting the first obstacle was short-lived - unable to stand against the panorama of foreboding that was pressing in on him.

His two worlds were about to collide.

And the fallout would be nothing short of disastrous.

He had just a few seconds to decide what to tell Rachel. He had to give her enough information that she would realise the urgency of the situation.

But, inevitably, there were going to be questions. Questions about why Moyne had come here. Questions about the connection between Moyne, Lois, and himself. Questions about how Clark had spent the past seven years.

Questions that Moyne could answer. Questions that would destroy Clark's chance of being a regular Smallville local.

He held the phone away from his ear and tried to detect any sounds from upstairs. There was only silence.

He had hated leaving Lois alone with Moyne. It had seemed like he was taking the safe option and leaving her in danger. But - unpleasant though it was to accept - there was every chance that right now, Lois was more capable of restraining Moyne than he was.

But if Moyne *did* try to hurt her again ... Clark glanced anxiously up the stairs. He needed to get back there.

To try to protect Lois.

From Moyne.

And from anything she might do to him.

"Clark," Rachel greeted. "It's so good to hear from you."

He jumped at the sound of her voice. "Rachel. We need your help."

"Oh," she said. "What's wrong? Didn't the power get reconnected?"

"An intruder came into the house. Someone ... someone who tried to hurt Lois."

"Is she all right? Are you? Where's the intruder now?"

"He's still here. Can you come?"

"Does anyone need an ambulance?"

"Ah ... no," Clark said. "I don't think so ... I'm not sure what -"

"Is Lois in any immediate danger?"

"No. But I'd really like you to come quickly."

"I'll be there in ten minutes."

Clark gratefully returned the phone and pushed his weakened body to mount the stairs.

He was worried about Lois. Her pyjamas were blotted with blood. She had parallel scratches that started at her throat and plunged downwards into her pyjamas - which hung slightly open because the top button had been ripped away.

The scratches looked deep, but they were scratches, not cuts. They would heal. Was she injured anywhere else? How seriously? What other humiliation had Moyne inflicted on her?

*Something* had happened. Her detached and closed-away demeanour felt like razor wire coiled around Clark's heart. She hadn't even looked at him.

He'd been too late to save her.

And even when he had arrived, he had been useless. Unable to protect her. Unable to do anything but collapse onto the floor and watch as Lois had single-handedly battled a depraved killer.

Clark reached the top of the stairs and entered the bedroom, but neither of the occupants looked at him. Lois sat with deathly stillness on the bed, her eyes fixated on Moyne, the weapon ready. Clark's first impulse was to go to her and try to ease the gun from her hand, but he really wasn't sure how she would react. He edged forward, hoping he was close enough that he would have a chance of intercepting the bullet if she fired.

Moyne had regained consciousness, but he still looked drowsy. He listlessly wiped away some of the blood oozing from the corner of his mouth but said nothing.

They waited - three silent people in a dishevelled room that was soiled with bloodied stains and heavy with the spectre of the past. Lois stared at Moyne; Clark stared at Lois.

Clark's gaze dropped beyond Lois's throat. The scratches - three ridges - were glistening with moisture but not openly bleeding. She had told Scardino that Moyne had *tried* to rape her. How far had he gone?

"Lois?" Clark said quietly.

She gave no indication of having heard him.

Clark concentrated his hearing and picked up the faint sound of a motor. He followed it through the weaves and turns of the road. It stopped at the end of the driveway, and he heard the gate creak as it swung open.

Half a minute later, the low purr of the engine stopped.

"The police are here," he said.

Neither Lois nor Moyne responded.

The sharp rap on the front door slashed through the oppressive atmosphere.

Clark hesitated. If he left Lois with Moyne, he couldn't be sure that she wouldn't shoot him. But he couldn't take the gun and leave Lois unarmed.

He was saved from having to make the decision when he heard the front door swing open.

"Clark?"

"Up the stairs, Rachel," he called back.

Footsteps approached. Lois didn't break her attention from Moyne. Moyne didn't move.

Rachel and a young male deputy swept through the door, weapons raised. She scanned the room and stepped towards Lois. "Give me the gun," she said, reaching for it.

Lois didn't resist, and Clark breathed easier as Rachel passed the weapon to her colleague.

Rachel put her gun in her holster and leant over Lois. "Are you all right?" she asked gently.

Lois looked dazed, but she nodded in response.

Rachel turned to Clark. "What happened here?"

"He tried to kill me," Moyne cut in angrily.

Clark's head jolted towards Moyne, who was looking at Rachel as if she were his hope for sanity in a manic world.

"Who tried to kill you?" Rachel asked.

"He did," Moyne said, indicating Clark. "He came in and found Lois with me. He went crazy and tried to kill me."

"Mr Kent reported an intruder in his house," Rachel said evenly.

"Lois is staying here as his guest," Moyne said. He gingerly pressed his fingertips into a top lip that had begun to swell. "I came here to visit her."

"Ms Lane?" Rachel said.

"She's too scared to tell you the truth," Moyne said. "She knows what he will do to her if she says anything against him."

"What will he do to her?" Rachel asked.

"Same as he did to the others," Moyne said. He paused long enough to glare at Clark. "This man has brutally murdered two men."

The accusation stabbed at Clark's heart.

"No, he didn't," Lois said dully. "You did."

Moyne raised his hands. "See?" he said. "She's too scared to admit the truth. She knows what he did, but she knows that if she says anything, she will be his next victim."

"Clark?" Rachel said.

"I didn't kill anyone," Clark said quietly.

Rachel leant closer to Lois. "You need to go to the hospital to get checked out," she said.

"No," Lois said.

"You need medical attention."

"I'm not going," she said, her tone so hard and cold that Clark knew the only way they were going to get her to the hospital would be to overpower her physically.

Rachel looked to Clark. "I think she needs to go," she said.

Clark agreed.

"See how much he's scared her?" Moyne said. "She can't even think about her own needs." He scrambled to his feet, wincing as he did. He reached into the pocket of his brown trousers and withdrew his wallet. He took out a card, which he handed to Rachel with a shy smile. "Sheriff," he said. "Lois is a colleague of mine. And a friend. If you could see to her safe transport to the hospital and take this man into custody, I'll call a higher-up from my agency and arrange for the fugitive to be returned to Metropolis."

"Fugitive?" Rachel asked.

Moyne looked surprised at her question. "Yes," he said. "I'm not sure what you've been told, but this man has been in prison for the past seven years. During that time, he killed two men. Last week, he escaped and kidnapped Lois. I have been tracking them, trying to rescue her."

"That's not true," Lois mumbled.

"You can see she is in shock," Moyne said, throwing a concerned glance towards Lois.

"Lois has already called a higher-up," Clark said quickly.

"Scardino?" Moyne sneered. "It is his incompetence that allowed this to happen to Lois." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Here is the number for Eric Menzies. If you call him, he will support my story."

Clark's world was crumbling piece by piece, but nothing mattered as much as Lois's shocked remoteness. She was hurting. And there was nothing he could do for her.

"What happened here, Clark?" Rachel said.

Moyne stepped towards her. "I already told you what -"

In an instant, Rachel's gun was out and pointing at Moyne. "Do not take one more step," she warned.

Moyne raised his hands in a bemused gesture.

"Face the wall," she ordered. "And keep your hands up."

Disbelief polluted Moyne's expression. "You're kidding, right, lady?" he said scornfully.

"No, I'm not," Rachel retorted. "Face the wall, or I'll bring out the cuffs."

Moyne glared at her, but he turned to the wall and raised his hands. "I've given you ID," he said. "You know who I am. This is not going to look good on your record."

Rachel lowered her weapon, but she didn't take her eyes from Moyne's back as she spoke. "Clark?" she said. "What happened here?"

"I was out," he answered. "When I returned to the house, I heard thumping and banging sounds. I ran up the stairs and found Ms Lane and this man involved in a scuffle."

"What did you do?"

He'd done nothing. He hadn't been able to do anything. He'd been rendered powerless and in pain by the poison. "Within a very short time after my arrival, Ms Lane knocked him out."

Rachel placed her hand on Lois's slumped shoulder. "Lois?" she said.

Lois slowly raised her head to respond to Rachel.

"I have to ask you who hurt you," Rachel said. "And I have to remind you that making a false report to a police officer is an offence."

Lois nodded slowly.

"Who did this to you?" Rachel said. "Who caused those scratches on your chest?"

"Moyne did."

"She's so scared of him that she's not thinking properly." Moyne spoke despite still facing the wall.

Rachel straightened. "Turn this way," she ordered Moyne.

He did, his face twisted to a disdainful smirk.

"Hold out your hands, palms down."

With an exaggerated sigh, he obeyed.

Rachel examined them and then turned to Clark. "Hold out your hands," she said in a more civil tone.

He did, and Rachel scrutinised his nails.

"OK," she said decisively as she turned back to Moyne. "You're coming to the sheriff's office with us. We'll sort it out there."

"Me?" Moyne said as if he must have misheard.

"You."

"If you were to call Eric Menzies now, you would avoid the embarrassment caused by taking in a government agent."

"I won't be listening to anything he has to say until I've verified his authority," she said coldly.

Moyne covered his initial surprise quickly. "I'm impressed," he said smoothly. "In my experience, backwaters like this aren't aware of the protocol."

If Moyne had hoped that his compliment would soften Rachel's manner, he was disappointed.

"Whatever Mr Menzies says, it's not going to change the fact that you have what appears to be skin and blood under your fingernails," she stated. "A simple test will ascertain whether it was you who caused the injury to Ms Lane."

"I had to drag her away from him."

"If that were the case, I would expect the marks to be on her shoulder, not halfway down her chest," Rachel said matter-of-factly.

Clark looked at Lois and finally saw something he could do to make this easier for her. "Does Ms Lane have to come with you tonight?" he asked Rachel. "Can your questions wait until tomorrow?"

"She *should* go to the hospital."

"I'm *not* going," Lois said.

"Will you stay here and look after her?" Rachel asked Clark.

"Yes."

Rachel crouched next to the bed. "Lois?" she said. "Do you want to stay here with Clark?"

"Yes."

"You're not scared to be alone with him?"

"No."

Rachel turned to Clark. "I'll need to talk to both of you again tomorrow. Don't go anywhere."

"We won't," Clark agreed.

"You can't be serious," Moyne scoffed. "You're leaving a government agent alone and unprotected with a known killer."

"Ms Lane has expressed her preference." Rachel nodded to her colleague who took hold of Moyne's arm and led him towards the door.

As Moyne passed Clark, their eyes met. Moyne's expression seethed with barely contained repugnance. Clark watched him without wavering.

"You deserve to die," Moyne spat. "You're nothing but a dirty animal."

"Be quiet," Rachel said. "One more word from you, and I *will* cuff you." As she passed Clark, she spoke in a lowered voice. "Call me if you or Lois need anything."

"Thanks," Clark said, realising how inadequate it was.

The sheriff left the room, and Clark was alone with Lois.

||_||

In the back of the police car, Neville Moyne had time to think through his situation.

He had no doubt that he would be released - probably with a gushing apology - the moment the puffed-up sheriff finally talked with Eric Menzies.

There were good reasons why he had hadn't spilled the juicy information that the person masquerading as Clark Kent was, in reality, a vicious alien. He didn't want some stupid female cop seizing her moment of glory and informing Menzies that *she* had recaptured the prisoner.

No - Moyne had already put the pieces in place to guarantee that he would gain whatever benefit was to be had from finding the escaped alien, returning him to captivity, and securing the safety of humanity.

But now, a different plan had grown and taken possession of his mind. A better plan. A plan he'd devised while staring down the barrel of his own weapon while that bitch had stared at him as if he were a piece of trash.

A plan eminently suited to a man who relished the taste of revenge.

He would say nothing about the alien to anyone - not even Menzies. The reward for his restraint would be the opportunity to go back and finish the job properly. He would have to detour to his car - for another piece of the Achilles and another, more powerful gun - but this time, there would be no talk, no delay. He wanted Lois Lane dead. No one humiliated Neville Moyne - twice - and lived.

Then, he would kill the alien.

Moyne had done the tests. He knew that exposure to the green substance would render the alien vulnerable to bullets within two to three hours. The only question remaining was whether he shot the bitch while the alien watched helplessly, or whether he kept her alive to witness the alien's suffering.

Either way, he wouldn't be taking any chances.

As soon as they arrived at the sheriff's office, he would demand that he be allowed to call Eric Menzies. The snooty sheriff would get her verification, Menzies would secure his release, and he, Moyne, would be back at the farmhouse within an hour.

||_||

"Lois?"

Clark perched on the edge of the bed. She didn't look at him.

"Lois?" he said. "You can't stay like this. You have blood on you."

She looked down and seemed surprised by her dishevelled appearance.

"Are you in any pain?" Clark asked, relieved that he had elicited any reaction from her.

She lifted her hand to the back of her head and prodded, inhaling sharply. When her hand lowered, she looked at her fingertips. There was a small smudge of blood.

"Do you mind if I check it?" Clark asked.

She didn't reply, so he stood up and gently brushed back the hair near where she had touched. There was a slightly rounded bulge topped with a seeping wound.

"It's not too bad," Clark said as he sat on the bed again. "Does your head ache?"

Her gaze moved slowly to focus on his face. "A bit."

"How did you get the wound?"

"I ... I don't know."

"Did you hit your head on something?"

Lois grimaced. "I ..."

Clark's anxiety clawed higher. "Lois," he said. "Perhaps you should go to the hospital."

"No," she cried, shaking her head. She looked at him beseechingly. "No. Please."

"OK," he conceded. "But promise me you'll tell me if your head feels any worse."

She didn't respond. Clark's eyes dropped to the area he had been trying to avoid - her chest and the strips of parallel scratches. They were probably stinging now, but he didn't think they were serious in the long-term. However, Neosporin would avert infection.

There was blood on the bed coverings. Lois would feel better if she was clean, and Clark opened his mouth to suggest she have a shower. He closed it again, realising that she had been going into the bath when Clark had left earlier that evening. Had she still been there when Moyne had come?

Lois was dressed in her pyjamas, so it seemed unlikely. He had to suggest something. "Lois?" He looked into her vacant eyes and tried to smile encouragingly. "Would you like a shower? If I get it running for you -"

"No," she said emphatically.

Clark remembered the extended times in the cell when severely limiting his supply of water had been a part of the abuse. "I think you'll feel a lot better if you get out of these bloody clothes," he said. "I can wash your pyjamas for you, and then you can get some sleep."

Her eyes lifted slowly, raising Clark's hopes that she was considering his suggestion.

"Would ... would you run a bath for me?" she asked.

Relief flooded through him. Lois had responded. And her willingness to have a bath strongly suggested that Moyne hadn't barged into the bathroom earlier. "Of course," he said. "Will you wait here while I do it?"

"Uh huh."

Clark sped into the bathroom and turned on the faucets. He hadn't experienced the agonising pain since Lois had taken the poison down the stairs, but his body still felt achy. The poison was probably still somewhere in the house.

Moyne was probably - this instant - telling Rachel about the murderous alien in their midst.

But Clark couldn't think about that. He had to do whatever he could for Lois.

While the bath was filling, he found two clean towels and a washcloth. He turned off the faucets, checked the temperature of the water, and did a final sweep to ensure everything was perfect.

"It's all ready for you," he said as he crouched beside Lois's bed.

She didn't make any move to rise. Clark stood and offered her his hand. After a moment's hesitation, she slipped her hand into his, and he helped her to her feet.

"When you are undressed, put your pyjamas outside the door, and I'll wash them for you."

"Can you dry them?"

That was a good point. He certainly wasn't back to full strength. "Maybe not," he admitted. "Sorry. Would you like me to get something else for you to wear? Or would you prefer to get it yourself when you've finished?"

"I ... " She looked lost.

"It's OK," Clark hurried to reassure her. "I'll get you something."

She withdrew from his hand and shuffled slowly into the bathroom.

"Call me if you need anything," Clark said as the door began to swing shut.

It latched, and he stared at it.

Whatever had happened between Lois and Moyne, it had caused her to put up a barrier that shut out the world.

And that included him.

||_||

Moyne waited for his call to be answered, grinning insolently at the sheriff. He was looking forward to seeing her grovel after Menzies had reduced her to mash.

He heard the click of the phone being connected. "Menzies," came the gruff voice of the man who had married his Aunt Phoebe.

"Eric," Moyne said, remembering to employ some family goodwill in his tone. "It's Neville."

"What do you want?"

Moyne wasn't taken aback by the harsh tone. Despite his curtness, Menzies had always come through for him. At heart, Menzies was a coward who would never risk being whipped by his wife's irritation.

"There's been a misunderstanding," Moyne began. "Following the incident last week, I wanted to check on Ms Lane before I left for my new assignment. Just a courtesy call to ensure that she was all right and there were no hard -"

"Get on with it."

"She panicked, and things got out of hand, and she called the local police. I showed them my ID, but they don't seem fully cognisant of what it means, and -"

"What is the charge?"

"They haven't charged me with anything," Moyne said indignantly. "There is nothing to charge me with."

"Put the local cop on the line."

Moyne grinned. Within five minutes, he would be walking out of the sheriff's office. Within half an hour, he would be back at the farmhouse. By midnight, both the freak and Lois Lane would be dead. He gave the phone to the sheriff, unable to stop himself from winking at her as he did.

||_||

Eric Menzies waited with escalating annoyance. A female voice spoke, and she introduced herself. Menzies didn't even bother taking note of her name or rank.

"Eric Menzies," he barked. He rattled off his agency ID number and his single-use passcode.

"Thank you, Mr Menzies," she said. "Please hold the line while I check your details."

Menzies waited, hoping that wherever Moyne was, he wasn't so far from civilisation that it was going to take a long time to confirm his authority.

He was pleasantly surprised when the voice was back quickly. "Thank you, sir," the female voice said. "We have verified your position."

"What's the charge?" he asked.

"Mr Moyne hasn't been charged yet, but he is implicated in an assault."

Not murder? "Assault?" Menzies barked.

The voice hesitated. "And possibly attempted rape."

Menzies felt disgust twist through his stomach. Rape.

"Mr Moyne said that you would vouch for him as being a member of a government agency," the voice continued.

"He is," Menzies said.

"He is claiming he is innocent of the allegation."

He would. Menzies knew what Neville expected of him. He had the authority to pull strings. One word from him, and regardless of what they believed Neville had done, regardless of the evidence, Neville would be able to walk free.

It was a necessity of the job. Agents who were asked to go into desperate situations sometimes had to resort to desperate actions. The agency's policy was that everything was handled in-house. If an agent made a bad decision, it was important that those who understood the pressures of the job judge whether any other action had been possible.

It was how he had extracted Neville from trouble in the past.

But this time ...

This time it was rape. Attempted rape of a fellow agent.

And something within Menzies reared in protest. He had ordered the death of the alien in order to keep Neville out of trouble.

That had lasted less than a week.

Why had the stupid young fool gone after Lois Lane?

Eric glanced up and saw Phoebe looking at him. Although she had finally started to show some progress, she wasn't going to be able to cope with Neville getting into real trouble.

But attempted rape ...

"What evidence do you have?" Menzies asked.

"We haven't questioned the woman formally yet - she is still in shock. But she has several gouges on her chest."

Menzies grimaced. "You'll test under his nails?"

"Yes."

With a sinking feeling, Eric knew what he had to do. It might mean that Phoebe would regress into her silent and angry world. It might mean that she would leave him.

But he couldn't allow Neville to continue. If he had done this ... if he were able to evade the consequences ... next time, it could be anything.

"Treat the case on its merits," Menzies said.

"No special treatment?"

Menzies paused, wondering what inner compulsion was driving him to destroy his life completely. "The officers involved should be aware that the person concerned is linked with two murders."

"You want him held?"

Menzies knew that this would be the end of his marriage. Phoebe would never forgive him. "Yes," he said. "Keep him overnight. I'll send someone to get him tomorrow."

"OK. Thank you, Mr Menzies."

Eric grunted a close to the conversation and slowly replaced his cell in his pocket.

Lois Lane had been an agent for over five years. Female agents who lasted that long without quitting or dying were good. Neville was lucky he hadn't been killed.

When Eric turned, Phoebe was looking at him. "Who was that?"

"Police," he replied. "One of the agents got himself into a bit of trouble."

"Trouble?"

"Assault."

"I guess that happens a lot in your job."

He heard the trace of contempt in the words 'your job'. "Yeah."

Phoebe gazed at him. "Was it more than that?"

For most of his married life, he had fobbed off her questions concerning his job. He'd told himself that - given his line of work - it was necessary. But the truth was that he'd wanted to keep her from intruding in the world where he was king. "Attempted rape," he said - because Phoebe was actually talking to him.

"Rape?" she gasped. "How can *that* be justified? Even in your job?"

"It can't."

"Did you get him off?"

"No," Menzies said, feeling like a man who was signing his own execution notice. "No. I didn't."

"Good," Phoebe declared.

Menzies stared at her. Clearly, it hadn't even crossed her mind that the unnamed agent could be her nephew. "You don't think I should have got him out of the mess he's gotten himself into?"

Instead of answering, Phoebe stared to where her fingers were weaved into a tight net. To Eric's alarm, a small tear rolled down her soft pink cheek.

He wished he were anywhere else - back out in the field, facing gunfire. That was definitely preferable to facing an emotional woman.

"Phoebe?" he said.

When she looked up, there was such pain in her eyes that revelation hit him with the force of a blow.

In that instant, he knew.

He knew the secret that she had kept from him for all of their marriage.

He knew that his marriage wasn't in danger of ending - not over this incident with Neville, anyway. Phoebe's nephew had crossed the line. Rape was something she would never condone.

"I ... I didn't know," Eric said softly.

"I didn't feel I could tell you," she said.

"I'm sorry."

Phoebe's eyes dropped. "I would like a cup of tea," she said.

Eric sprang to his feet. "I'll get it for you."

The icy coldness that had enveloped her since her suicide attempt thawed a little. "Thank you," she said.

Eric walked down the short corridor of the care facility, feeling more hope than he had since the day he had found out that his son was addicted to heroin.

Someone, somewhere, had violated his wife.

And terrible though that was, perhaps it would give them a glimmer of connection, a second chance.

||_||

She had gone there again.

There - the place she had promised herself she would never return.

There - the place where something inside her rose like a fire of poison and devoured her - blinding her with uncontrollable rage.

She had only been there once before. The young guard. The still-in-his-teens kid they had left on duty while they'd eaten supper. Lois had crept out of the dark room of Linda's death, moved stealthily along the corridor, seen him, and attacked, knocking him out with the flashlight.

She'd taken what she'd needed from him - weapon, clothes, ammunition.

Then, the fury had risen within her, and she'd found herself with her hands around his throat, squeezing the life from him - driven to kill, driven to revenge, driven to make someone pay for what Ivica had done to Linda.

There had been a loud bang from the dining room - possibly someone had dropped a plate or knocked over a cup - and it had been enough to shake her from her frenzy.

She'd let go of the boy's neck. She'd risked recapture by waiting the long seconds while his breathing had become re-established.

Then she had run. Run away from Linda. Run away from the terror of death. Run away from the cruelty of those who had threatened to take her life.

But mostly, she had been running away from herself.

She'd escaped them.

She'd begun to believe that she'd escaped herself.

But she hadn't.

And now, she wasn't sure she ever would.