from Part 2
Superman rose a foot from the ground and floated over to the men, being careful to land in the designated area.
He crouched beside Mayson, already knowing there was nothing anyone could do to help her.
A pungent blend of shock and sorrow flooded through him. After taking a moment to recapture his Superman composure, Clark stood and faced the three men. "Was she dead when you arrived?"
Henderson nodded, but Wolfe fired a question. "Do you know the whereabouts of Clark Kent?" he said.
"No. I’ve been -" Clark stopped as sharp realisation pummelled him. "Clark?" he said.
"We’re not jumping to any conclusions," Henderson said quickly.
Wolfe shot his colleague a meaningful glance. "We want to question Kent," he said. "If you know where he is, you should strongly advise him to give himself up."
"Give himself up?" Clark gasped. "You think *Clark* did this?"
Wolfe nodded grimly. "As I see it, he’s about three questions away from being charged with murder."
Part 3
Clark tore his eyes from the three police officers, his gaze drawn back to his fallen friend.
She'd been alive. Such a short time ago. In his apartment. Talking. Planning for a future - both short and long term. A future that had been violently ripped from her.
She'd been alive. Young. Vibrant. Capable of feeling emotions.
She'd been upset when she'd left his apartment. She'd arrived with hope and anticipation - excited about the tickets to the show - and had left with pain and disappointment.
That had been his fault. He should have told her. He'd had numerous opportunities over the past week to tell her how he felt, but he'd failed every time.
A heavy coating of guilt draped over the sadness welling up from his soul.
Henderson cleared his throat. "Have you heard from Clark?" he asked.
Clark snatched his eyes from the face that would never smile again. "No. I was out patrolling, and I -"
"You and Kent are particular friends?" Wolfe barked.
Clark tried to cover his surprise at the blatant suspicion sparking off the detective's question. "I wouldn't say *particular* friends," he hedged.
"But obviously you're close enough that you drop into his apartment?"
Feeling the need for an explanation, Clark said, "I rescued a little boy caught down a flood drain. The city seemed quiet."
"And you just happened to find yourself here?" Wolfe's question was fired like a bullet.
"Clark's a reporter. I -"
"So the rumours are true," Wolfe said.
"What rumours?"
"That you give Kent and Lane an advantage in getting Superman exclusives."
"I speak to all members of the media," he said, desperately trying to shore up the barrier between Clark's churning emotions and Superman's cool, calm exterior.
"When was the last time you saw Kent?" Wolfe said.
Clark folded his arms across his chest, squared his stance, and forced himself to mould to the Superman guise. "Am I being questioned? Officially?"
"No, of course not, Superman," Henderson said with a warning look towards Wolfe. "But we want what is best for Clark. And right now, that means finding him."
"It seems you've already decided Clark did this," Superman said, trying to keep his tone impersonal.
"It happened here, in his apartment," Henderson said. "We have a -"
Wolfe stepped between them. "We are not at liberty to discuss any case with members of the public," he said coldly. "The best thing you can do now, Superman, is to find Clark Kent and get him to the station."
The grim expression on Wolfe's face tightened the coils in Clark's stomach. He turned to Henderson, but found no respite there. They both believed Clark had done this.
What had brought them to that conclusion?
"Have you checked the apartment?" Superman asked. "Is anyone here?"
"We checked for the presence of the perpetrator," Henderson said. "The apartment was empty when we arrived, and only the Medical Examiner has come since then. Except you, of course."
"When was the last time you saw Kent?" Wolfe said.
That was not an easy question to answer truthfully.
"Have you seen Clark this evening?" Henderson asked in a more reasonable tone than the one employed by Wolfe.
"No," Superman said. He scanned the room, using his enhanced vision to look beyond the wall and into his bedroom and bathroom. Lana wasn't here. The covers on his bed were ruffled.
Had the police noticed? And even if they had, how could they know that Clark Kent made his bed every morning as his mother had taught him? Where was Lana? Had she still been here when Mayson had returned? Why had she left? Had she done this? Had she been carrying a gun? Why hadn't he checked her bag? Why had Mayson come back to his apartment?
Clark's eyes travelled back to the heartbreaking motionlessness of her blood-streaked face and saw the answer to one of his questions. About two feet from Mayson - lying upside down, probably having fallen from her hand - was her shiny new baking pan.
"Did you know Ms Drake?" Wolfe asked.
Clark jolted his attention from the body, fearing he had allowed too much of Clark Kent to penetrate the Superman mask. "Not personally," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'm insensitive to the tragedy of what happened here tonight."
"The tragedy that an innocent young woman lost her life?" Wolfe asked coldly. "Or the *tragedy* that someone you consider to be a friend is wanted for questioning over a murder?"
Clark chose not to reply. "She was shot?" he asked, addressing his question to Henderson.
Henderson nodded grimly.
"It looks like a single shot to the back of the head from close range," Wolfe said, disgust pervading his professional appraisal of the case.
"Do you want my help?" Superman offered. "Do you want me to search the apartment?"
"The forensic team will be here shortly," Wolfe said. "They will do their job competently. And their work won't be compromised."
Accepting that he wasn't going to be privy to the details of the case against Clark, Superman nodded, paused a moment to pay silent respect to Mayson Drake, and then turned towards the balcony.
"Superman?"
He turned at Wolfe's voice. "Yes?"
"This is a crime scene. You are required to sign the record, stating you were here." He gestured towards the uniformed cop standing by the door.
Clark had never been asked to do that before, but it seemed he had lost his status as a trusted associate and had become a possible impediment to procuring justice. That hurt ... and they didn't even know he was the primary suspect.
He walked slowly up the stairs and scribbled an 'S' next to the documentation of his time of arrival and time of departure. Then he floated past the two men and the body.
"If you find Clark, the best thing you can do for him is to convince him to turn himself in," Henderson said in a tone that seemed to include a hint of apology.
Wolfe spoke up. "And I'm sure you're aware of the consequences of harbouring or assisting a person wanted for questioning."
"Anything else?" Superman said.
"No."
Clark flew out from the balcony, his mind in turmoil, and his heart squeezed by claws of grief, confusion, and shock.
Where was Lana?
What evidence did the police have? Just that it had happened in his apartment? Or something more?
There had to be more. Even Henderson believed Clark Kent had fired the gun that had ended Mayson Drake's life.
Had Lana done it? Had she slipped so far that she'd been willing to kill in order to achieve her plans for their life together?
__|~|__
The creak of the back door grated loud in the silence, and Martha Kent lurched to a sitting position. "Jonathan," she hissed. "There's someone in the house."
"Uh?" he said sleepily.
"Someone opened the back door."
"It's probably Clark."
"He doesn't come at this time of the night."
"Lois is away. He's lonely."
Footsteps echoed from the bottom of the stairs. "Mom? Dad?"
Jonathan shot Martha a smile in the mellow arc of moonlight. "See?"
Martha switched on the bedside lamp, stood from the bed, and pulled on her robe. A quiet tap sounded on their door as Jonathan did likewise. "Come on in, Clark," she said.
The door swung open, and Clark came in - wearing the Superman suit.
"Is everything all right?" Martha asked. Her eyes flitted over her son, her mind processing the slump of his shoulders, the dip of his head, the overall mantle of ... distress ... that clung to him like a dark cloud. "A bad rescue?" she guessed, approaching him.
"What happened, Clark?" Jonathan asked from half a step behind her.
Their son's head lifted, and he faced them. His eyes carried an expression she couldn't identify, but it scrawled trepidation across her heart. "Is it Lois?" Martha said.
He slowly shook his head. "You've heard me mention the deputy DA, Mayson Drake?"
Martha nodded.
"She was murdered tonight."
"Aw, Clark," Martha said. "How awful." And it was, but there had to be more. Clark didn't come home as Superman every time someone in Metropolis died. "I didn't realise you knew her so well."
"She was in my apartment," he went on bleakly.
"Your apartment?" Martha repeated as foreboding swept through her like an ice-gorged stream. "When was she in your apartment? Today? Earlier?"
"She was killed there," he said desolately. "Shot to the back of the head. Probably as she was trying to leave."
"Aw, no, Clark." Martha rubbed her hand down his arm. Then she recalled his earlier visit. "You said Lana was there."
"She was," Clark said. "Now she's gone."
Martha met her husband's eyes, reading his thoughts as distinctly as if he'd spoken aloud. "Do you think Lana did it, son?" Jonathan asked, keeping his question starkly unemotional.
"I don't know," Clark said. "The police think it was me."
"You?" Martha cried.
"You?" Jonathan queried more calmly. "Or Superman?"
"Clark Kent," their son answered. "He is their primary suspect. He is wanted for questioning. One of the detectives seems sure he ... I ... will be charged."
"But you didn't do it," Martha declared. "It must be a misunderstanding. When you answer their questions, it will become obvious that you didn't do it."
"It's not that simple, Mom," Clark said. "Mayson was killed in my apartment. Their first question has to be if I was there. I can't say I was - I don't know what happened to Mayson - but if I say I wasn't there, they'll ask where I was, and I don't have an answer for that."
"When was she killed?" Jonathan asked.
"It has to have been in the last hour. I checked on Lana before coming here earlier."
"So it could have happened while you were here?" Martha said.
Clark nodded. "But I can't use that as an alibi. There's no way to explain how Clark Kent was in Smallville, Kansas."
"Superman could say he brought Clark here to visit his parents," Martha suggested as a ray of hope flickered through her fear. "We can honestly verify that. We even have a reason for why you wanted to talk with us - Lana's claims that you fathered her child."
"No, I can't say that," Clark said. "They already asked me if I'd seen Clark this evening, and I said I hadn't."
"You didn't do this," Martha said. "There can't be enough evidence to charge you - you *didn't* do it."
"They already have enough evidence to want to question me," Clark said dismally.
"What evidence do they have?" Jonathan asked.
"They wouldn't tell me. But it's my apartment, and they said no one else was there. And Clark's disappearance makes him look guilty."
"But it's only suspicion," Martha said. "They won't be able to prove you did it because you didn't. There has to be a way to prove that you didn't do it."
"I don't have an alibi," Clark said desperately. "When Mayson was killed, Clark Kent wasn't *anywhere*. I have no way to prove I wasn't in my apartment."
"You can tell them Lana was at your apartment," Martha said quietly.
"If I say that, it just shifts the suspicion from me to her."
Again, Martha met Jonathan's eyes. There had been talk among the Smallville locals. Talk about Lana's unpredictable behaviour since her return from Europe.
Martha put a hand on the spandex stretched across her son's broad shoulder. "Do you think Lana could have done this?"
"I don't know what else to think," he said. "She was there ..."
"Why would she kill the deputy DA?" Jonathan asked. "Did Lana even know Mayson?"
"They met today," Clark said miserably. "They were both at my apartment."
The cold fingers of comprehension bored a little deeper into Martha's heart. "Why was Mayson at your apartment?" she said. "Was it business? Or a personal reason?"
"She had tickets to a show on Friday night. Lana bluntly informed her that I wasn't interested in dating her. Mayson left, upset. I followed her and tried to apologise, but there was nothing I could say."
"Because what Lana had said - that you weren't interested in Mayson - was the truth?" Martha said.
"I liked her," Clark said, sounding as if he were confessing a personal failing. "But not in that way. I'd been trying to tell her all week." He blew out a long breath. "If only I had, perhaps she would still be -"
"Don't think that, Clark," Martha said. "Don't say it. You didn't kill Mayson. This is not your fault."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't pursue it. "What do you think I should you?" he said.
"I think we should consider the options," Jonathan said.
"I can't see any," Clark said disconsolately. "Not good ones."
"Clark Kent doesn't have to be found," Martha reminded him. "Ever."
"No," Clark said firmly. "No. That would have terrible repercussions for you. And Lois would think -" His face constricted with another wave of anguish. "Lois would think I had killed someone and run away. I couldn't stand that."
"I think the police need to know that when you left your apartment, Lana was there," Jonathan said in his quiet, considered way.
"If Lana did this, you can't protect her," Martha added gently. "And if she didn't do it, her testimony could be important in finding the person who did kill Mayson."
"If Lana didn't do it, why did she run away?" Clark said. Then his cheeks paled, and he sucked in a quick breath. "What if she were taken by the murderer? Because she's a witness? That is possible. Mayson would have enemies. It's inevitable in her job. Perhaps someone tracked her to my apartment. Perhaps that person took Lana."
His gush of speculation ceased, and he looked at his parents, awaiting their reaction. "That's ... that's possible," Martha conceded, unsure how to respond when the choices seemed to be restricted to having murdered or having been kidnapped by a murderer.
"Are you worried that if you bring Lana into this, she will go through with her threat to reveal what she knows about you?" Jonathan said.
"I'm worried they won't believe anything I say because I won't be able to be totally truthful. I'm worried it will look like a story I've made up to try to shift the blame onto someone else. I'm worried about what Lana will do if the police question her." Clark released a long breath. "And yes, I'm worried she will blow the secret."
"Maybe ..." Jonathan's voice cracked. "Maybe it's time, son."
"No," Clark said firmly. "Because if the world knows that Clark Kent is Superman, you become immediate targets for anyone wanting to control me. Anyone close to me ... Lois ... also becomes a target. The safety of everyone I love depends on Superman being separate from my life."
"If Lana killed Mayson, I don't think she will tell the police that Clark Kent is Superman," Martha said. "If, in fact, she knows."
"Why not?" Clark said.
"Because if she did, she would be handing you an alibi," Martha said. "You would be able to prove your whereabouts when Mayson was shot."
Jonathan spoke up. "If she didn't do it, she might spill the secret just to give you an alibi. I doubt her baby's 'father' serving a jail term for murder is a part of her grand plan."
"I don't think it's possible to determine what Lana is most likely to do," Martha said. "She's never been predictable, and since returning from the European trip ..."
"Maybe you're going to have to decide what is most important to you," Jonathan said. "The secret - or Clark Kent's reputation and freedom."
A sickening wave tightened the tension in Martha's stomach. "But you'd do it?" she said. "If it came to a choice between revealing the secret and being charged with a murder you didn't commit - you'd do it?"
Clark didn't reply for a long moment. They stood in a triangle, three people who had protected a secret for nearly three decades. In the midst of them, hovering like a palpable presence, was the spectre of a decision they had hoped they would never have to make.
"You could investigate," Martha said, grappling for alternatives. "As Superman, not Clark. You could try to find out if all they have on Clark is opportunity - that it happened in his apartment."
Clark considered that for a moment, and then he said, "The homicide detective, Wolfe, is already suspicious of Superman's association with Clark. I don't think he trusts Superman. I'm not sure anything Superman says will make a difference."
The walls of trepidation closed in on them. Martha looked from her husband to her son, hoping to find an inkling of hope, a materialisation of the way forward. There was nothing but the reflection of her own despair.
"What are you going to do, son?" Jonathan asked eventually.
"I don't think I have any choice but to trust the system," Clark said, his voice hollow and listless.
Martha's heart collapsed. "You're going to give yourself up?" she squeaked.
"I have to," Clark said. "I can't hide as Superman. This isn't going to go away. The longer Clark is missing, the more guilty he appears and the harder it's going to be to explain why I didn't give myself up earlier. If I wait for this to hit the papers, some people will decide I am a murderer, even if it can't be proven." He straightened his caped shoulders. "I have to face this. I have to go to the police and allow them to ask their questions."
"Have you decided how you're going to answer?" Martha said.
"I'll try to find out exactly what evidence they have that points to Clark being the killer. Then, I'll try to answer as truthfully as I can without revealing that Clark Kent is Superman."
"Where will you say you were?" she said.
"I can't say I was anywhere."
"Was there a reason why you left Lana?" Jonathan asked. "Other than wanting to come and talk to us?"
"I heard a cry for help," Clark replied. "A boy had fallen down a storm drain."
"You could say you were at that rescue," Martha suggested. "As Clark Kent. You know details of what happened. That's proof you were there."
Clark shook his head. "If I do that, I risk being caught out in a lie. The people there - the mother, the child, the police officers - they saw Superman, but they didn't see Clark Kent."
"Are you going to tell the police that Lana was in your apartment?" Jonathan said.
"I don't want to delay going to the police," Clark said uncertainly, "but I think I should try to look for her first. If I were able to find her, a lot of things could become clearer."
"I think that's a good idea," Jonathan said. "She's the daughter of Ray and Millie - they've been our neighbours for years. If she's in any trouble ..."
"You're right," Clark said as a sudden dash of purpose straightened his posture. "If Lana didn't do this - if she's been kidnapped, or if she ran off because she was scared - she needs my help. And her evidence will be invaluable in finding the murderer."
Martha drew her son into her arms and held him for a lingering moment. "We'll catch the first flight tomorrow morning and be in Metropolis by early afternoon," she said. "Whatever you decide to do, we'll be there for you."
"I ... I can't fly you there," he said.
"We don't expect -"
"If I'm being questioned about a murder, it's possible someone from the sheriff's department will come and talk to you. Your neighbours know you were here tonight. If you're in Metropolis early tomorrow morning ... If someone checks airline records ... I think we need to be careful about anything that connects Superman with Clark."
"We'll drive to Wichita and catch the first plane to Metropolis tomorrow morning," Jonathan said. "Don't worry about us."
Clark studied the floor for a moment. "If ... if you see Lois, could you ... could you tell her ... tell her I'm sorry?"
"You're not going to talk to her first?" Martha said.
Clark shook his head. "It's the middle of the night. And anyway, I wouldn't know what to say to her."
"You could tell her that you didn't hurt anyone," Martha suggested softly.
"I couldn't stand it if she didn't believe me," he said. He ducked to kiss Martha's cheek, hugged his dad, and was gone with a gush of backdraft.
"He's going to turn himself in, isn't he?" Martha asked her husband. "Whether he finds Lana or not, he going to do what he thinks is right?"
Jonathan nodded slowly.
"But he won't have answers for their questions, and that's just going to increase their suspicion."
Jonathan placed a gentle hand on his wife's shoulder. "We should get back to bed," he said. "There's nothing we can do for our son now, and if we're going to catch that plane, we have to be up in a couple of hours."
__|~|__
Clark hovered high above the lights of Metropolis, cursing himself that he hadn't considered the possibility of Lana needing his help earlier.
He should have looked for her before skulking off to his parents.
He should have forced himself to think rationally.
He focussed his vision on his apartment. Wolfe had gone, Henderson was chatting with the uniformed officer who was now stationed outside his front door, and a team of three male forensic officers were combing through each room, armed with their tools of investigation.
There was no sign of Lana anywhere in the vicinity.
Why had she run away?
Because she had shot Mayson? Because she had been scared by someone else? Or because she had been taken by Mayson's murderer?
Was she - right now - in danger?
Clark's super-powered eyes roved over the streets, delving into the dark alleys and shadowed corners. By now, she could be anywhere. She could be inside a building. She could have gone to a hospital. He had no way of checking - not without invading other people's privacy.
He had to go to the police. He had to tell them Lana was missing. Whatever the ramifications, her safety had to be his first priority.
But the ramifications could be life changing.
What if they wanted to fingerprint him?
To Clark's knowledge, Superman's fingerprints were not on the police files. But he'd worked alongside them many times. It wouldn't have been difficult to lift a print from something he'd touched and keep it as a sort of souvenir.
Mayson had been shot. It seemed probable they would want any suspect to undertake a gunshot residue test. Of course, there would be nothing on his hands or clothes. But how would his Kryptonian physiology respond to the test?
Just like a human? Or different somehow?
And there would be questions.
Questions he couldn't answer. Time he couldn't account for. Time when Clark Kent hadn't actually been anywhere or done anything.
Would he be forced into admitting he was Superman?
If he did, his parents' lives would change forever.
And Lois ...
How would she react?
Would their friendship - the prize he had bartered for in exchange for denying his love - survive?
It wouldn't survive if he were charged with Mayson Drake's murder.
Clark zoomed across the dark city and landed in the alley half a block from the central police station. He checked for possible observers, spun into the clothes he had been wearing earlier, and slipped onto the sidewalk, still without a clear plan.
Half a dozen steps later, a hand grabbed his elbow from behind.
He spun around.
"Lana!"
"Sssshhh," she hissed.
"Are you all right?" She was wearing oversized jeans, a white tee shirt, and his leather jacket. A thick ribbon lay across her hair like a bright pink bridge stretching between her ears. "Where have you b-"
"Shut up and listen," she growled. "I know you're just itching to run to the cops and spill everything like a little teacher's pet, grovelling for a shiny star."
"Do you know what hap-"
"I knew you'd come," Lana said. "Don't you realise they know it was you? If you take one step into the cop station, you'll go down for murder."
Clark lightly grasped her shoulders through his leather jacket. "Lana," he said. "You know I left my apartment."
"I know nothing."
"Were you there when Mayson was killed? Do you know who did this?"
Her look dripped with scorn. "Why would I tell *you* anything?"
"Come with me to the police," Clark said. "Tell them whatever you know. We'll get through this together."
Her laughter rattled with contempt as she shrugged his hands from her body. "Now that everything you care about is being threatened, you want to do *together*?" she said. "Too late, Kent. I offered you 'together', and you couldn't scurry away fast enough."
"Lana, if you did this, there will be evidence. Fingerprints. Forensic -"
"They're not looking for a woman," Lana said, running her hand over the pink ribbon. "They're not looking for anyone - except you. I heard the cop talking to the witness. She said it was you."
They had a witness? Who had had named him?
"You still believe in justice, don't you?" Lana scoffed. "You're still too naïve to realise that the police aren't interested in finding out who really did this. They just want a conviction, so they can pat themselves on the back and move on."
"It's not like that," Clark insisted. "I know some of the police officers. They -"
"You *know* some of the cops?" she cried. "And you still think I would be stupid enough to go in there with you?"
Did she know she was discussing this with Superman? Did she think Clark Kent could kill? Did she think Superman could? Did she have any idea of the repercussions if the 'Clark Kent is Superman' bombshell exploded right alongside the 'Clark Kent killed Mayson Drake' disclosure?
Clark took a breath and changed his tactics. "Did you see who killed Mayson?" he asked gently. "Did the killer threaten you? Is that why you are so worried about going to the police?"
She cackled loudly. "I was young and stupid when I fell for your nice-guy act, Clark," she said. "So stop wasting your time pretending you're concerned about me, and -"
"Lana, if they're looking for me, I can't hide forever. Eventually, I'll have to face their questions. They're going to ask if I was there. When I tell them I had already left, they're going to ask if anyone else -"
"Are you threatening to squeal on me?"
"I'm saying there will be questions that will make it difficult to leave you out of this."
"Let me make it easier," Lana said in a softer, more menacing tone. "I found the picture you had hidden next to your bed. The picture of the brunette. I know her name. Lois Lane. I know she works at the Daily Planet. *She's* the one you're in love with, isn't she?"
"Lana, I *work* with Lois. That's all."
Derision lifted Lana's upper lip to a sneer. "You always sucked at lying."
"I'm not with Lois," Clark said quickly. "She has nothing to do with this."
"I figure that if you run to the cops, I'll have nothing to lose by putting a bullet through Lois Lane's head."
"No!" Clark bit off his exclamation and grappled for a path of reason she would accept. "Lana, come with me to the police. Running -"
She shook her head vehemently. "I'd shoot myself before I would go to the cops," she said. "I hate being this close to them, but I had to talk to you. I had to -"
"Running away isn't going to -"
"The police have a witness who says you were there when the blonde was killed," Lana said. "If you had any street smarts at all, you'd never be seen in Metropolis again. But I knew you'd want to do the honourable thing and tattle to the police about me being in your apartment. That's why I had to see you. That's why I came here. To make sure you understood. You squeal, I shoot." She pointed her finger at him and pulled back, mimicking the firing of a gun. "Dead Lois."
"Lana," he said. "Hurting Lois won't achieve anything."
"It won't make any difference to me," she said lightly. "If you're going to try to pin the blonde's murder on me, I might as well take out a pigeon pair. One blonde. One brunette."
"Don't," he begged. "Don't make this worse than it already is."
She smirked. "You won't be able to stop me, Clark. Once you step into the police station, they aren't going to let you go for a long time. Even if you spin a tale about a long-lost lover having been in your apartment, they won't believe you. The witness didn't see any woman except the blonde."
"La-" His protest died as an anguished cry grabbed his attention. He focussed on the police radio, the tone of the voices instantly alerting him to an emergency. He listened, gathering details.
There had been a collapse in one of subway tunnels. A train was buried under the rubble. Hundreds of late-night travellers had been entombed. Their rescue would take hours of precarious excavation, and during that time, injured people would suffer. Some would die.
Clark Kent needed to walk into the police station and face his accusers regarding Mayson Drake's murder.
He needed to protect Lois from Lana's deranged threats.
He needed to make Lana see reason.
But Superman was needed by hundreds of people.
Clark stood, utterly torn.
Without his help, people would die.
But while he was helping them, the case against Clark would gather momentum.
And Lana would ... He really wasn't sure what Lana would do. But he couldn't risk her hurting Lois. "Give me the gun," he demanded in Superman's voice of steel.
It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. "You think I'd give you anything?" she sneered. "Even if I had a gun?"
The cries rose from the tunnel, urgent and congested with terror. Superman! Please help us, Superman!
He had to go.
He had to answer their call.
Clark x-rayed through the leather jacket and saw a revolver loaded with three bullets tucked into the jeans near Lana's hip. With a movement that was superfast and supremely deft, he reached into the jacket and took the gun. He turned away and sprinted towards the alley.
Lana's snicker of contempt chased him. "I always knew that under that thin layer of perfection lurked a pathetic coward."
Clark kept running. He was Superman. And people needed him.
