From Part 17
I gulped. "We could find a solution, Clark," I choked out. My words sounded hollow. How could there be a solution? Hadn’t Clark already tried to find one? And I had called him a traitor, in my thoughts anyway. My stomach was tied in knots.
"I've tried, Lois," Clark said and with a jolt raised to his feet. The sofa shook at the sudden loss of weight, showing what strength Clark hid from the rest of the world. "I kept weighing every option, desperately trying to figure a way out of this mess. First, I was your friend, then I tried to keep my distance from you. Good grief, I've even started a relationship with Mayson in order to drive you away from me." Shame was written on his face.
"But Clark ..." I pleaded, not knowing what there was left to say or do. He had not loved Mayson. The relief mingled with the bitter taste of pity for her. Even Mayson didn’t deserve to be treated like that. But I did not want to think about her. My mind raced as I tried to think of a way that Clark had missed.
"There's no use, Lois," he summarized the result of my consideration. "I cannot go on like this,” he said desperately. "Please forgive me.” The window flew open. A gust of wind swept through the room and then, Clark was gone.
* * *
Only in my dreams
Part 18
The engine roared as I hit the accelerator. My jeep lurched and jerked forward. H.G. Wells nervously dug his fingers into his bowler hat, which he held in both hands. He looked at me uncertainly. I only saw him from the corner of my eyes. But I had no intention of paying any attention to the sensitivities of some lunatic. Why had I taken him with me, anyway? I did not know exactly. Actually, everything that had happened, since Clark had run out on me for good, was blurry.
"Ms. Lane," Wells gasped in horror and stared at the road while I drove straight back towards Metropolis.
"Do you wanna get out here?" I offered him and hit the brakes. I was pushed into the belt and felt the jolt as the car came to a halt. Impatiently, I leaned over him and opened the door. "Your decision. I didn’t ask you to come along."
"You don’t seem to understand, Ms. Lane. It is of utmost importance that I talk to Mr. Kent," H.G. Wells said in his nasal English accent. "I've been trying for days to contact him."
"Have you ever thought about using the phone?" I snapped, slamming the passenger door shut, when Wells made no attempt to get out. "What kind of world-changing things could be worth following us to that hotel?" I asked gruffly. I was annoyed that the little man with the bowler hat had actually made me curious enough to let him join me on my ride back into town.
"Well, basically I hope that he will tell me something," Wells replied, panting with fear as I revved up the engine again. He used a handkerchief to dab the sweat from his forehead. "Really, I should be getting used to this kind of vehicle ..." he muttered confused and swallowed hard.
"If you want to stay in this car you’re gonna have to tell me more than that ..." I blackmailed him.
"Really, I don’t know if that's a good idea, Ms. Lane," Wells writhed unwillingly. Our paths had crossed in the lobby, just when I had wanted to check out. After all, there was not much sense in pretending to be a married couple, when I was completely alone. "It’s impossible to predict the consequences..."
"Stop this nonsense, Mr. Wells. You may have some resemblance to this writer, granted. But I know for a fact that he's been dead for nearly fifty years," I replied sharply. "What am I doing here? I can’t believe I let you talk me into taking you back to Metropolis." Involuntarily I stepped on the brakes again.
"Maybe because I'm your last hope?" Wells hastened to say, while the car slowed down. "All right, listen to me, Ms. Lane," H.G. Wells sighed heavily and again wiped his forehead. "I'm pretty sure you know by now that Clark Kent is actually Superman."
"What?"
The car stopped with screeching tires. I turned to Wells. His face was almost green. He clutched the door handle with sweaty fingers.
"How do you know?" I asked, horrified.
I thought back to the ransom note. Was I about to lead those criminals to Clark? Not for the first time that day I tasted bile. My heart pounded. Ever since I had picked myself up after Clark had left, I had been mad at him to the point of fuming. But now I was scared for him and the fear was clutching at my heart, holding it in an icy grip.
"Because it's true what I told you," Wells said emphatically and a tad angrily – which was rather surprising for the composed Englishman. "I'm H.G. Wells, the author who didn’t only write about time machines. I also built one.” He straightened and for a moment, his face gleamed with pride. Wells cleared his throat, embarrassed, and shrank back. "I have traveled into the future and found a world where everyone lived in peace." He took the glasses that were fogged with sweat and started to clean them with his handkerchief. I would have loved to shove the glasses out of his hands. "This Utopia was founded by Superman and Lois Lane. People adore this couple, like no one else in the history of mankind."
He made a significant pause before he put his glasses back on. "But when I last visited the future, Utopia was destroyed. Or rather had never even existed because you and Superman had never become a couple. I could not figure out what had happened to change the future. But I would bet that Tempus is responsible. "
"Tempus,“ I asked surprised. "Who's that?" Was that actually the first thing that came to my mind? What had Wells said? "Superman and I? Utopia?" I realized at the last moment that I had said that aloud. "What are you talking about?"
I shot Wells a brief glance. He did not really look like someone who took perverse pleasure in torturing others. On the other hand, was he not doing exactly that?
"What do you want?" I snapped. "Do you enjoy this sick little game of yours?"
"Certainly not, Ms. Lane," Wells said unnervingly calm. "The situation is serious."
"You must be crazy, Wells," I lashed out at him and clutched at the steering wheel to keep myself from becoming physically aggressive. Utopia! When had he come up with that? Superman and I? Instinctively I felt a spark of hope. Could Clark be wrong? I didn’t want to indulge in that idea. The inevitable disappointment would be more than I could bear.
My heartbeat calmed down slowly. Whatever this Mr. Wells was up to, I did not think he was the one who had sent me the letter. At least my gut was telling me that. I had to concentrate on the blackmailer. Wells fantasies were none of my concern.
There was someone out there who knew Clark's secret. And whoever that was could be much harder to overcome than the grumpy Englishman.
"Tempus is a man with an unfortunate propensity for violence. It’s his aim in life to destroy the relationship between Superman and you and thus Utopia," Wells replied patiently. "He..."
"Oh, give me a break," I cut Wells short. I just could not stop myself. "Why would this Tempest..."
"Tempus ..." Wells corrected me instantly.
"Tempus." I mocked his accent. "So, why would he want us apart?" Wells did not flinch at my critical glance. He even stopped fumbling with his glasses. "We are nothing more than a couple of the millions on this planet."
"A very significant couple, Ms. Lane," Wells pointed out and then cleared his throat hastily and blushed. "I should not give away too much."
"Then you tell me one thing, Wells. How do you think Tempus managed to destroy Utopia?" I asked impatiently.
I wanted to get to Clark. There were more important things to do than to argue with a strange Englishman. My foot twitched into the direction of the accelerator. Why had I taken Wells with me? The truth was that he had caught me completely off balance. The receptionist had given me another envelope.
<Needless to say, we are expecting your service in return for keeping your secret. As a reporter you certainly know some juicy details about the political elite of our country ...> the second message had said.
"I had hoped that Mr. Kent could tell me," Wells answered the question I had almost forgotten.
"You know what, Wells? Get out. I don’t need anyone interfering with my life," I said curtly, and leaned forward again to open the door. "I have no time for those figments of your imagination. You aren’t the only one who has figured out that Clark is Superman. I'm being blackmailed. Clark and I must find them before someone uses that knowledge. "
Wells looked at me aghast. "That's terrible," he said flatly, and once more started fiddling with his glasses. "But believe me, Ms. Lane, there are more pressing problems. The world can handle knowing the truth about Superman’s identity. Utopia on the other hand ... "
"The world, perhaps ... But I don’t believe that Clark could deal with that," I replied icily. "His life is already mixed up as it is, even without everyone knowing his secret."
Again, I was sick. After all, I had known that Clark had been compromised. Why had I not stopped him confessing all his secrets in the hotel room? Why had I forced him to do it in the first place? Why ...? I closed my eyes. I could see the last day and a half before my mind’s eye in all its gruesome details. Clark had so often pleaded with me to drop the matter. He had been right. If I hadn’t forced him to tell me, if I had understood his silent message, we wouldn’t be in this mess now.
I felt Wells curious glances even though my eyes were closed. He cleared his throat. Involuntarily I glanced at him. His mustache twitched and his breath quickened. It almost seemed as he wanted to break free from this British primness.
"Ms. Lane, you must tell me what you know," he urged desperately.
"I haven’t the slightest idea how your Tempus could be involved in all this," I scolded Wells. "Go rescue that dream world of yours somewhere else. I’ve got to find out how I can help Clark here and now. And I seriously doubt you’re willing to assist me." My voice was louder than necessary. Tears burned in my eyes, but I would not cry. I had already put so much effort in keeping back those tears that I could not budge now.
"You still don’t believe me," Wells said disappointedly. "And why would you." He laughed joylessly. "I can’t believe that Tempus has actually won this time," he murmured softly, biting her lip. "So many times we have beaten him - and now ..." His voice sounded hoarse. Discouraged, he dropped his head and stared at the bowler hat in his hands.
I suddenly felt pity for the little Englishman. It must have been difficult trying to contact Clark. But I did not quite understand what goal he pursued. Was he just plain crazy, or was there more to it? Whatever it was, it had to wait until I had found Clark.
Again, I hit the accelerator, getting back onto the highway. I turned on the radio to distract myself. It crackled briefly before loud pop music filled the car. Wells was visibly shaken by the sounds. I was tempted to turn off the music again, but I was not keen on talking. I could hardly bear this light, bubbly melody.
The radio continued to play and I focused my attention on the road. Bushes and trees became an indistinct green wall on both sides of the road as we rushed through the seemingly endless landscape. The first song was followed by a second, slightly melancholic one. Soon, I had almost forgotten about the man claiming to be an already dead author, who wanted to save a world that did not even exist.
<The breaking news> a serious voice interrupted the program that stood in stark contrast to the light music of the station. <The City Council has decided to revitalize the old harbor - better known as Suicide Slum. The plans include the demolition and rebuilding of some factory buildings. The goal is to turn this area into a center of cultural life,’ so said the spokesman Will McGlee.>
H.G. Wells shot me a hopeful glance, as I briefly looked over to him. Immediately, I turned my attention back on the road, and the Englishman closed his mouth again without having accomplished anything. His enthusiasm to save this mysterious utopia had obviously diminished.
<Superman has called a press conference for tomorrow morning,> the speaker continued. <So far he has not yet announced what will be the purpose of this conference. Reportedly…>
It hit me like a bolt from the blue. That particular press conference had been weeks ago, but I saw Diana Stride before my eyes as if it had been only yesterday. It was almost as if I was there again. And in my vision I saw Clark in front of a pack of reporters.
<You’ve certainly watched the recent feature on Superman broadcasted by "Top Copy". Now there’s not much sense in denying it. What Ms. Stride said, is the truth. Over the past few years I’ve been leading a double life. I'm Superman.> I heard Clark say. In a blink, the vision was gone
It was not right. Clark had not outted himself then, but he had somehow managed to convince everyone that Diana Stride was wrong. My pulse raced. Alarmed, I turned off the radio. My breath came in panting gasps and my hands were shaking as I clutched at the steering wheel. Distraught, I confused the accelarator and the brakes. The car sped up again, before it finally came to a halt. Basically, the newscaster had said nothing of importance ....
"No, no ..." I whispered hoarsely, shaking my head to banish the vision, which had expired in front of my eyes.
It had been like one of those dreams that Clark and I had apparently shared. I had no idea how this could be possible, but it did not matter. In my heart I knew this press conference was going to serve a certain purpose. Did Clark know about the blackmail? Blood roared in my ears. What a silly question! He was Superman. Had I seriously believed that I would be able to keep this from him?
"... what’s the matter with you?" Wells words were faint, as if they came through a thick layer of cotton wool in my ears. I felt his hand on my shoulder. "Ms. Lane. Do you feel all right?"
"What?" I mumbled and looked at H.G. Wells worried face. He took his hand off my shoulder, as if he had burned himself.
"Excuse me," he apologized embarrassed. "I thought you hadn’t heard me."
to be continued...
