Clark and I head out later that night to the Palazzo Dario, apparently a famous and cursed house in Venice, for the party.
“Why do people say it’s cursed?” I ask as we leave the hotel, the desk clerk having mentioned this bit of lore when we asked for directions.
“Well, apparently, all of the owners of it have died. But it’s beautiful and has a prominent place on the canal. And technically, Luthor doesn’t own it; he’s just borrowing it for the night,” Clark explains as we find our way to the Grand Canal.
We cross a bridge and walk leisurely along the Grand Canal until we come to the Palazzo Dario. Three tiers of arched windows are the villa’s prominent feature, and like quite a few buildings in Venice, the villa sort of lists slightly to one side. In fact, one can get seasick just walking around Venice, as water is constantly moving under and through the city and adjusting the foundations of buildings.
As we head in through the garden, Clark stops me and points to an engraving on the entranceway in Latin. “I think this may be the origin of the legend of the curse:
genio urbis Joannes Dario sub ruina insidiosa genero. My Latin is a little rusty, but basically it means ‘I see Joannes Dario in insidious ruin under this city.’ Nice guy, whoever added that bit to the property.”
Actually, it gives me the creeps. I grab onto Clark’s hand and we head to the door where a line has formed for people to go in to Luthor’s party.
A man is standing there in a Turkish outfit, checking names off his list.
“Clark, I don’t think our masks are enough! We need to know who’s on that list!” I whisper to him, but he seems to have it all under control.
“Shh, Lois… I am trying to--”
“Read lips?”I suggest for him helpfully, trying not to laugh, since he obviously has no better idea how to explain what he’s actually doing.
Clark nods vaguely in answer and then tilts his head. Though the voices are low at the front of the door and even in front of us, I’m assuming Clark can somehow tune them in. I have to admit, he sure is a handy guy to have around in a pinch.
At last it’s our turn to present ourselves to the Maitre D’. Clark gives him some Italian names and we are miraculously waved in.
I smirk a little, wanting to push the issue for him to tell me at last how exactly he does what he does, but our setting quickly distracts me. I’ve been to some fancy parties in Metropolis, but never have I seen such Old World decadence on display.
The ceilings are low and wooden, supported by alabaster columns. The yellow walls almost look golden in the wash of light from the chandeliers and nearby candles. I feel entirely out of my element, yet I’m enchanted by the soft colors and the sound of a string quartet playing in the other room. The windows are open, letting in a cool evening breeze from the canal. An elaborate dinner buffet is laid out in one corner of the room, manned by servants dressed in Turkish outfits.
“What’s with all the turbans?” I ask Clark, who seems to be a natural fountain of knowledge when it comes to customs and history.
“The architecture is based on Turkish styles. Luthor must be keeping with that theme.”
I nod, suddenly hearing a stir in the room. “Hey, I think our host is about to make his appearance.”
Clark looks to where I’m pointing. We are on the far side of the room, so I tug him to follow me to get a better look at Luthor. I feel confident that he won’t recognize me with my mask, though I wish I had gotten one like Clark’s that ties around the back instead of carrying mine on a stick.
“Buena sera, amici!” says the Metropolis billionaire, who doesn’t even bother wearing a mask to his own masked ball. “I’m so happy to be here in Venice with you all tonight. I missed out on Carnivale season and so, I thought we’d have a little of our own fun while I’m in town.”
People all around us applaud. I think I spot some of the pilfered jewelry on Luthor, but I can’t tell for sure. I pull Clark through the crowd to get a closer look. I notice a green gem stone that I think is the stone the opera singer in Rome mentioned. As we get closer, it suddenly glows brighter.
Clark trips at my side and I admonish him to be more careful. But when I turn to look at him, I notice he suddenly appears very ill.
“Lois… I … need to sit down,” he says, unexpectedly leaning heavily on me. He starts to feel like a stone wall about to topple on my shoulder, so I do my best to quickly pull him over to a chair.
“Clark! What’s wrong?” I ask frantically. For a guy with some kind of super powers, it seems terribly strange that he would just all of a sudden fall ill.
I feel his forehead, which though a little warm, seems nothing out of the ordinary. “I’ll be right back,” I say, stepping over a few feet to get him a glass of water.
I sit down next to him and hand him the glass. “Clark? What happened?”
“I—I don’t know,” he says, taking a sip. “I feel a little better…”
My attention is drawn back to the small dais where Luthor is standing, as he calls our collective interest to a coffer on the stage.
“Madame e uomini,” he says, clasping his hands together. “I want to share with you a treasure. An American treasure that was brought here about twenty years ago. I’ve managed to convince the Lido family to part with it, and I intend to return it to Metropolis where it belongs.”
I look anxiously back at Clark, who still looks a little pale, but seems to be doing a bit better. He looks worriedly at the box next to Luthor and I’m beginning to have a suspicion that something to do with Luthor’s box is causing Clark’s sudden illness.
Luthor laid his hand on the box in preparation of a big reveal. “Ladies and gentlemen, I present here, to this select group, a rock whose properties my scientists believe could be our next natural energy source!”
He opens the lid, revealing a large glowing green rock, and Clark suddenly collapses against me.
Luthor goes on about how the rock was previously undiscovered, and then on about some nonsense about how it has a radioactive property to it that would be perfect for clean energy, if only his team can locate the elusive mine where the rock came from. The audience is captivated by it and Mr. Luthor, but I am more concerned about how to help Clark.
I turn back to him, who even though sitting down, looks like he’s struggling to stay upright.
“Clark! Clark!” I cry to him frantically in a low voice, trying to shake him to focus on me and yet not draw attention from people nearby. “Look at me! What’s wrong?”
He starts sweating—something I’ve never seen him do!--- and I worry that he is getting worse.
“Lois, you have to get me out of here… I’m… not well,” he says weakly, reaching for my hand.
“I can see that!” I say worriedly, getting more alarmed by the second. I stand him up, moving his arm so it’s wrapped around my shoulder. “Can you walk?”
He nods, and we start heading towards the balcony. Let me tell you, half-carrying a tall, superpowered man, is no easy task. It’s like he’s made of lead or something.
I move him to the far side of the room, where we can get on to the balcony that overlooks the river. I hope the fresh air will help him. I sit him down on a bench and kneel in front of him, reaching up to cup his face between my hands as I try to get him to look at me.
“What’s wrong, Clark! You have to tell me!” I say, searching his eyes.
I glance over his shoulder, and see the crowd in the room is still distracted by the glowing box of rock being discussed by Luthor. Essentially, we are alone, and as I look back at Clark, I suddenly feel the gulf between Clark and me because of his secret. I have no idea how to help him, and his stoic silence about what is wrong is sending me into a near panic.
The silence I have been keeping about what I know about him has finally gotten to me, and I feel the dam of tears start to break, worried over how to help him.
“Clark, listen to me. You can tell me what’s going on,” I begin. “I know you’re different… I—know that you’re---special. And I want to help… you have to tell me what’s wrong---“ I implore, tears beginning to clog my throat.
I look up at him, seeing the pain he’s in and how his eyes widen at my confession. “What do you know, Lois?” he asks raggedly.
“I just know that you can do things that no one else can. That--- you can fly!” I say breathlessly, just saying it aloud feeling thrilling and terrifying at once. “You—you rescued my plane in Paris, didn’t you?”
He doesn’t answer, seeming to get weaker, but his head lolls to the side.
“Clark!” I cry in alarm, moving his head to look at me. “What is it that’s doing this to you?!” I blurt out in frustration.
“Lois---we have to get out of here—“ he murmurs and I nod, glad to have something to focus on, to do to help him. I wipe the tears from my eyes, and manage to swing Clark’s arm over my shoulders again.
We head back inside to the party with the intention of making a beeline to the door, when I hear a voice behind me say, “Is that Lois Lane of the Daily Planet crashing my party? Has the Planet finally found the resources to go international?” says the voice in a scoffing manner.
I freeze and manage to turn with a weakened Clark on my shoulder to face Lex Luthor. I realize I left my mask on the balcony, having been so concerned about getting Clark out of there.
“Sorry, Mr. Luthor, I couldn’t resist,” I say with a small forced smile. I hope that Luthor can’t see the tracks of my tears and doesn’t look too closely at Clark. His mask is all askew and nearly soaked through with sweat.
“My people have told me you’ve been hounding me for an interview for quite a while, Miss Lane. But sneaking into my party, all the way in Venice is a little extreme, even for you,” he says, tsk-ing at me in a condescending manner.
“Well, I, um, hope maybe we can have that interview?” I try to say gamely, though honestly my attention is much more focused on Clark, as he feels less and less stable at my side.
“What happened to your date, Miss Lane?” Luthor says, stepping towards us.
“Um, the lobster didn’t agree with him,” I say, making a move to swing Clark back towards the door. “We’ll just be leaving…”
As Luthor gets closer, Clark appears to get worse, and I notice Luthor’s green ring starts glowing. I suddenly get the connection and realize that the rocks Luthor has are poisonous to Clark!
I turn away from Luthor in the hopes that he’ll let our little intrusion pass and let me and Clark out of there with no trouble.
“Miss Lane, I would hate for word of my new energy source to hit the press before I’m ready. Can we agree that when I am ready that I will grant you the exclusive interview—but only if you don’t say a word about it beforehand?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Luthor,” I say, pleased to be offered an interview at last with the magnate, but nervous that Clark has all but collapsed on my shoulder.
Luthor steps closer to us, and pats Clark on the shoulder with his beringed hand, causing Clark to wince. “You should get dates made of stronger stuff, Miss Lane. Asabi will see you out.”
We get out of the house, and I help Clark make it over to a long stone bench in the garden. He’s still sweating a bit and breathing heavy. “Clark? You okay? Do—do you want to go to a hospital?” I ask, but as I pretty much expected, he shakes his head. Whatever his secrets are, I doubt he wants doctors prodding around them.
“No… no doctors. I’ll be… fine, I think.”
“Clark?” I say, still a bit frantic, as he won’t look me in the eye. I have no idea how that rock hurt him, but I’m worried it’s permanent or is somehow still affecting him.
“I just need a moment…” he says. I sit with him there, so many things unsaid between us. He knows I know now, and I’m terrified that as soon as he feels strong enough, he’ll disappear and never tell me the truth about himself. And I want to know not just because of my story, but because, well, I like Clark—a lot, if I’m honest. I can’t imagine what it must be like to carry the burden of his secret alone, but if he would trust me with it---well, hell, I may even kill the story, if he really wants me to! I just want him to be all right!
I sit with him on the bench, and he lies down, laying his head in my lap. I stroke his hair, taking off his mask and look down into his eyes, my own still wet with tears.
“Clark?” I ask quietly after a moment, “Do you have any idea what caused this?”
He shook his head, “I’ve never seen it before---Lois, I’ve never felt so weak, so—ill in my life.”
“Clark…”I begin brokenly. “Can you tell me… about--?” But I can’t continue, unsure even how to phrase my question. I want to know where he got his powers, what all he can do, and why. Moreover, I want to know why he feels forced to hide it all.
He smiles weakly at me and reaches for my hand, laying it on his chest. “Lois, I’ve never told anyone about me…”
“Are you – a government experiment?” I ask and I’m relieved to see a smile on his face.
“No. No, I’m not. Honestly, I barely know myself how I do what I do.”
I puzzle over this a minute, carefully watching him. He’s breathing more normally and he’s stopped sweating, but he still seems pretty weak.
“Do you think it was that rock Luthor had?”
“I’m not sure, but I think it must be… All I know is that at the moment, I feel like I could barely hold a puppy, let alone an airplane…” he mutters.
I venture tentatively, “So it was you? In Paris?”
His eyes look up at me, the glare from the lights reflected on his glasses. I take them off, so I can see his eyes.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” I whisper, stroking his hair.
“Yeah, it was me,” he answers, his eyes not meeting mine, and with a tone of defeat in his voice.
He begins to sit up and I hand him back his glasses. “I… think I’ll be okay,” he says.
The air is still around us, and only the faint sound of music is heard coming from the house. I feel like there’s so much to say to him and I hope now he’ll answer some of my questions…
Story or no, I suddenly just want to help him, to understand him. “Let’s get back to the hotel and talk. What do you say?” I ask, and he takes my hand.
*L**L*
Clark and I make it back to the hotel. He seems to get better by the moment, but he’s quiet. We don’t say a word until we reach the safety of our room.
“Clark? How do you feel?” I ask tentatively.
“Well, normal, I suppose,” he says with some confusion.
“Normal for you?” I prod.
“Well—“ he pauses a moment and pulls down the rim of his glasses, staring intently at one of our walls. Then his shoulders slump, defeated.
“What is it?” I ask, intrigued and hopeful that he’ll fill me in.
He looks at me a little embarrassedly and shrugs, “Well, normally, I can—see through things, like walls.”
So I was right!“You can?” I say, trying not to give away that I already suspected as much. “What else can you do?”
“I—was born this way, sort of, with special abilities.” he admits. He turns to me, eyeing me carefully and I realize he’s trying to decide how much he can trust me with.
“Clark, I only want to help. To understand you,” I say, even as the article on my hard drive taunts me.
What will it be, Lois? The man or the story?His expression appears sad, and more than a little worried. “Lois, you have to understand that knowing my secret is dangerous. It’s why I---try not to stay in one place too long.”
He takes off his glasses, looking at them in his hands. “I became a reporter because it was the best way to be right on top of what’s going on in the world. I even thought of becoming a cop, but I couldn’t stomach the thought of ever having to use a gun. And I went international---“
“---because it was easier to stay hidden?” I suggest, and he nods.
I walk over and sit next to him, taking his hand. “Clark, what you can do---it’s amazing and---“I hesitate.
“—newsworthy?” he says derisively, and I cringe.
“It is—but, Clark—I promise. I won’t say anything until you’re ready,” I say, realizing that I only hope I can keep my promise. Perry is going to want to know the scoop on Clark, and the story on my computer makes me sound like a hypocrite.
“Ready?” Clark scoffs fearfully. “Lois, no one can know my story. Ever. It’s too dangerous. For my parents. And now for you.”
I see his Zorro mask on the coffee table and I reach over to pick it up. “Have you ever thought of a disguise?” I say, voicing my idea from earlier.
He shudders, “What? Like some comic book figure? No thank you!”
“But wait, Clark, think about it a second,” I say, warming to my topic. “If you had a disguise, then maybe you could stop running, settle down somewhere and have a normal life.”
He takes the mask from my hands, contemplating it. “I don’t know… I’ve hidden for most of my life. I can’t imagine stepping into the spotlight as some dressed up superhero… And besides, I first have to get my powers back…”
“Do you feel any better?” I ask with concern.
“Yeah, just like a normal guy,” he says, shrugging sheepishly.
He sits on the bed, playing with the mask and his glasses, and I can tell he simply has no desire to discuss this further with me.
I sigh and move towards getting out my pajamas.“Look, why don’t you get some sleep. Maybe you’ll feel better in the morning.”
He looks up at me with a lopsided grin. “So, I guess that means we share the bed?”
I’m relieved to see him teasing me, giving me hope that he isn’t entirely defeated. I give him a playful smile. “Sure. Just don’t try any funny business, mister!” I say teasingly, and head to the bathroom to put on my pajamas.
*L**L*
I look at myself in the mirror, thinking about what Clark had told me – or didn’t tell me. He still is secretive about how he got his abilities, and it seems that that secretiveness is stemming from a desire to protect his parents.
My stomach is in knots, thinking about what I’ve told Perry and what’s on my laptop. Can I brush it all off? Could I erase the story and tell Perry that I was wrong? Clark is such a nice guy—no matter how big a story he is--- and I can’t just out him for the sake of a headline. Especially now that I know there is something out there that can hurt him. At the same time, I don’t like him skulking about in the shadows either. He has true hero potential, if he could just find a way to use his abilities and still have a private life as Clark Kent.
I’m contemplating this as I head back into the room. Clark is on his side, his eyes closed, but I’m fairly certain he’s just pretending he’s asleep.
I get in bed next to him and turn off my lamp. I resist the urge to reach out to him, to hold him. He seems so lost and alone in the world. Yet I believe he could become a public hero, if he only would let himself become one.
I lie awake restless, feeling guilty about my article. Maybe I don’t have a right to publish it, at least not until Clark is ready. I’m torn, honestly. Because I feel like if he could get a little nudge, he wouldn’t be so afraid of the spotlight. But if I print the story without him knowing, I will have betrayed his trust. I know all too well what that feels like, and I never want to cause him that kind of pain.
I’m suddenly itching to get on my laptop. I glance at the clock and see that almost twenty minutes have passed since I crawled into bed. Maybe Clark really is asleep and he won’t notice if I work on my computer.
I get out of bed in the dark, and go over to my laptop on the desk. I know the light will be bright when I turn it on, but hopefully it won’t wake Clark. And if it does, I can just tell him I’m working on a follow-up story about the strange rock we saw tonight.
I open the password-locked file and repress a sigh. This article has Pulitzer written all over it—but I simply won’t use it to destroy Clark.
I start hitting the delete key, backing up over the part that hints at C. K., the travel journalist extraordinaire being the man behind the superpowers. I read through it again, debating whether I should just delete the whole file or keep it hidden on my computer. If I ever do convince Clark to step into the spotlight---
“Hey, whatcha doing?”
Clark is suddenly in front of me and I jump, thinking he was tucked safely away in bed. I panic and hit another button, trying to close the file. But instead, I see a bar flash up on the screen that reads ‘sending.’ My story, about a super powered man who rescued a plane out of the air and saved a burning metro car, is being sent to Perry’s computer!
And I can’t stop it!“No, no, no!” I say helplessly to my screen.
“What’s the matter?” Clark asks, coming around to look at my computer screen.
“Um, nothing… just a—computer glitch,” I stall, in a panic. Can I call Perry and tell him to ignore the story? Oh, God, I know that won’t work—he’s going to want more details, a picture—
he’s going to want to print it!I feel sick to my stomach. I’ve done it. I’ve betrayed Clark. He’ll leave me, like all the others, and this time it will be entirely my fault.
“Lois? What’s the matter?” he asks, coming to stand by my shoulder as I helplessly try to cover the screen with my fingers.
“Um, it was a story about the rock we saw tonight. I didn’t mean for it to be sent yet. But… I can’t stop it,” I stammer powerlessly.
“Was it incomplete?”
“The important parts are there… but… Clark, I have to call Perry. Now. It’s imperative,” I blabber, beyond panicking.
The file finishes being sent, revealing my story again on the screen. My fingers can’t cover it enough and Clark gently removes them from the screen. He reads it over my shoulder and I just want to crawl up on the floor and die.
“I’m so sorry, Clark,” I say earnestly, feeling tears start to form, though I try to hold them back. “I didn’t mean for it to happen this way.”
I can’t turn to look at him, but I can feel that he is suddenly closed off to me. Whatever connection I had felt with him is gone—destroyed by my own careless ambition.
“I should have realized you had put the pieces together sooner,” he begins quietly. I hear pain in his voice—the pain of betrayal. “That was why you came to Rome, isn’t it? That photo you had… you knew---you knew it was me then?” he asks calmly, though with a chill to his tone that frightens me.
I force myself to turn and look at him. “Clark—please, you have to understand! It started out as a story, yes—but—“
“But what, Lois? You needed a story and I was the perfect candidate. I understand. You wanted to get back on top and you had to use anyone you could to get there,” he says bitterly, each word stabbing a wound deeper into my heart. It hurts so much because it’s true.
“I was erasing it! I meant to erase it—and I hit the wrong button! It was all a mistake, Clark!”
“Yes, it was. I should never have trusted you, Lois,” he says, reaching for his coat. I step over to him to stop him.
“Please, don’t go! I’m going to call Perry and kill the story! I swear! You have come to mean much more to me than a story! I’m so sorry, Clark!”
“I have to go,” he mutters, stepping around me towards the door.
I feel desperate, so scared that he will walk out of my life forever. I have to make him understand!
“Clark, please! Don’t you see? What else should I have done! I saw you save our plane! Of course it was a story! A huge story!” I cry desperately.
“And I only made the connection that it was you when I saw you in the Paris Métro! That was after we met! I didn’t know what to do! I—“
He points an accusatory finger at my word processor, his voice shaking as he speaks, “You’ve had that story on your computer longer than that. If you---if you cared at all, you would have killed the story when we were still in Paris, Lois. You followed me to Rome for the story!”
I feel defeated, knowing he’s right. I only had the story on my mind at that point. It wasn’t until the other night, when we kissed and shared the opera together that I realized that I was falling for him.
“Clark, please! I will do everything I can to kill the story---but if Perry insists on publishing it---“ I take a deep breath. I know how this will sound, but I think it could be the only option—and the only chance I may have of seeing him again. “I can tell your story how you want it to be told, Clark. I’m sorry to have—betrayed you like this, but please, if it goes to print, let me help.”
“Right, so you can go win your Pulitzer?” he says sarcastically, cutting me to the quick. “I’m sorry, Lois, but it’s over. Whatever it was… Good-bye,” Clark, full of hurt, moves to the door as he speaks, slamming it behind him.
I crumple to the floor, feeling more devastated than I have at any point in my life. I blew it, in so many ways. Clark could have been The One, and I was too blinded by my own pain and circumstance to see it.
And I may have just lost him forever.
*L**L*
Palazzo Dario/Ca' Dario
"Palace Dario is a beautiful palace on the Grand Canal not far from the Salute church. It is finely decorated with many coloured marbles and Istrian stone. It was built for Giovanni Dario, originally from Dalmatia, in 1487 and designed by Pietro Lombardo. From its very earliest beginnings thought, the building has been deemed cursed because its owners have all, even up until recent times, have seen cruel deaths. Inscribed on a part of the building, is a message in Latin: "genio urbis joannes dario" in " sub ruina insidiosa genero" that maybe well confirm the curse theory?"
Venice, Ca\' Dario curse Pictures of Palazzo Dario More information about Palazzo Dario
