Previously On Specimen S:
October 11, 1994
"Good to see you," Trask said, smiling thinly at the man before him. "It's been too long."
"More than a decade," the man agreed, nodding.
"You must be wondering why I've contacted you after all this time."
The other man nodded again. "The question had crossed my mind."
"Come, come. Have a seat in my office."
Trask gestured around the lavish living space. It looked more like a living room in an apartment than an office. He settled himself on a black leather couch while the other man hesitantly took a seat in a matching armchair. The man shifted a little uneasily.
"Pardon my asking, sir, but..."
"Why are you here? Yes, yes, of course. You see, I need a favor from you."
"A favor?"
Trask chuckled. "Okay, you caught me. It's more like a job opening that I want you to fill."
"A job? Is this anything like what your father...?"
"Indeed. In fact, it's the exact same thing."
"Are you telling me...?"
"Yes, Jenson. We've found and recaptured codename Specimen S."
"That's....how?" Jenson breathed, shocked.
"Never you mind," Trask said sharply. Then softer, he added, "Are you interested or not?"
"Absolutely," Jenson said, without hesitation.
"Good. Because Bureau Thirty-Nine is a lifetime commitment. I would have hated to bring you all the way here just to give you your...severance package."
"Is he here? In this facility?"
Trask nodded. "But I'm afraid that, for the time being, I have others for you to see to."
"Not S?"
"No."
"Who?"
"Two human traitors who sheltered the alien creature after he escaped from my father's compound all those years ago."
"So...you want me to...what, exactly?"
"Monitor them. Make sure that they don't die on me."
"Don't die? Sir?"
"You heard me, Jenson. I need them kept alive, as a way to control S. Understood?"
Jenson nodded. Jason had the same ruthlessness in his voice that Cameron had possessed. It seemed that the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree. He also knew that if that was the case, then Jason probably wouldn't hesitate to kill him if Jenson displeased him. Jenson swallowed hard and nodded.
"Of course, sir."
"Any more questions?"
Jenson shook his head slightly. "None."
"Excellent. Now, get to work. You'll find the human traitors just down the hall, the last door on your right. The guards have been given your description and will let you in."
"I, uh, need to get some medical supplies," Jenson protested before he could stop himself.
But Trask shook his head. "No need. We have just about anything you could need right here. Food. Water. Medical supplies of just about every type. Ashton here will give you the grand tour of our humble new compound. Now, go. And Jenson?"
"Yes, sir?"
"If they die, you die."
"Not to worry," Jenson said, putting on an air of bravado. "They won't."
"Good."
Jenson stood and faced the man called Ashton. If the man was thirty-five years old, that was a lot. He stood just to the right of the door, in the military at-ease stance, dressed in army fatigues. Jenson wondered if he was actually a military man, or if, like Trask, he was play-acting at one. Still, he didn't say a single word. He merely followed Ashton as the man began his tour of the underground facility.
What have I gotten myself into? he wondered.
***
November 21, 1994
Jenson stepped cautiously into the small room that was serving as S' cell. He shuddered as he did so. The room was no bigger than the bathroom in his old studio apartment. It was so small that S couldn't lay out on the floor stretched to his full length. Instead, the man was curled into a loose fetal position, his back toward the single door. Jenson knelt as Paul Glass shut the door to the room behind him. Another shudder crept up Jenson's spine, now that he was fully enclosed in such a tiny place.
He couldn't see S' face. In fact, this was the first time since Trask had brought him in that he had been allowed to see S. He'd tended to Jonathan and Martha plenty of times, resetting broken bones and administering light pain killers when necessary. Once or twice he'd even had to provide a few carefully placed stitches to both of them. He wondered what Trask was doing to them, or was having someone else do to them, but he feared to ask.
If he had learned anything since Trask had brought him here, it was that he was just as volatile and crazy as his father.
Jenson lightly touched S on the back. The man did not stir. For one brief moment, Jenson panicked. Had S died while he'd been gathering together his supplies and medical instruments? He moved his hand to S' right shoulder and shook him gently. After a moment, S groggily began to shift, his movements painfully slow and far from graceful. But eventually, the man pushed himself up, turned, and sat, leaning against the wall.
Jenson was horrified at what he saw.
A full beard had grown on S' drawn and pained face. Dried blood was crusted in the corners of his mouth and beneath his nostrils. He was thin, too thin, and paler than anyone Jenson had ever seen outside of a corpse in a funeral home. His eyes blinked slowly, though they were all but lifeless. And yet, there was still a wealth of intelligence and a spark of determination hidden deeply within those familiar brown orbs.
He was no longer the little boy Jenson had once known. He'd grown into a handsome young man, though his looks had now been marred. Jenson could see that, despite the wounds he bore and his poor body condition.
As S gazed at Jenson, there seemed to be a flicker of recognition there. It made an uncomfortable jolt run up Jenson's spine. After all this time, S knew him, though he knew he didn't quite look the same anymore.
"J..." S tried.
"Ssh, don't speak," Jenson encouraged. "You aren't well."
S rolled his head from side to side. "Jenson?"
Jenson nodded. "In the flesh."
"When...?"
"Ssh, now. Let me take a look at you, S."
S rolled shook his head again. "Not S. Not anymore. Clark."
"All right then. Clark. Let me take a look at you."
"Don't bother. Dying."
Jenson could see that S'...Clark's...breathing was labored. He looked barely able to continue in the condition he was in. Clark closed his eyes.
"S...uh, Clark...stay with me now," Jenson said in a warning tone.
"Still here," Clark said in a small voice.
It somehow reminded Jenson of the little boy Clark had once been. He remembered so clearly how big and bright his eyes had been back then, though they had always been swimming in terror of Cameron. It nearly broke Jenson's heart now to see that same boy all grown up and teetering on the verge of a massive failure of all of his organs.
"Okay then. Let me take a look at you? All right?"
Clark sighed but did not protest as Jenson began to examine him. For his part, Jenson worked as quickly and as gently as he could. Clark hadn't been joking when he'd said that he was dying. From what Jenson knew of Clark's unique body, it did indeed appear to be teetering on the brink of shutting completely down. Jenson did his best to keep his face neutral, but it didn't seem to fool Clark.
"Told you," he wheezed out.
A fit of coughing seized Clark. For a long few minutes, all he could do was cough into his hand, grimacing against the pain that shot through his body. When he was done, he wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Jenson could see the spots and smears of blood on Clark's skin, though the man quickly tried to wipe the evidence away on his tattered clothing.
"Let me help you," Jenson pleaded, grasping Clark's wrist.
"Nothing to you can do," Clark said, his chest heaving with the effort of speaking. "Too late for me."
"Clark, that's not true. I can help you, if you let me."
Clark stirred, seeming to gather some scraps of energy. "You want to help? Get my parents out of here. Trask...he..."
"I know. I've been caring for them for a while now."
"Haven't seen them in a few days. Are they...?"
"They are battered and bruised, but alive. A little on the underfed side, but otherwise healthy."
Clark let out a quavering sigh of relief. "Thank you," he said quietly.
"Clark...it will go much easier on you if you just...do whatever Jason asks of you. You have to know that. I refuse to believe that you want him to kill you. And he will."
"I know. But I won't kill for him. I'd rather die. Please, Jenson. Just let me die."
"And your parents? Do you want to see them die?"
"No," Clark said, choking back another cough. "Of course not."
"Then just do what Jason says."
"Not who I am," Clark said. It appeared that his energy reserves were dropping again.
"Look, Clark, I know Jason's not the most stable guy. But if you value your life..."
"No," Clark said, firmly, as if all of his remaining strength was behind that single word. "Never."
"Damn it, Clark! I'm trying to help you!" Jenson pleaded.
But Clark's eyes had slid shut, the last reserves of his energy spent. Jenson checked his vitals. They were still strong enough that he didn't have to worry about immediate death, though he wondered how quickly that might change. For a long time, Jenson just crouched next to Clark's sleeping form. But Clark did not reawaken. After time, Jenson stood, shaking his head at Clark's stubbornness, and at the brutality of the situation.
He wanted to help. He really did. But there was only so much that he could do. He would try to get some extra rations of food to Clark. He would do his best to convince Trask that Clark would die without it. But he doubted that Trask would care. If only Clark would just do something - anything - to help himself out.
Jenson put his back to Clark and raised a fist to knock on the door, alerting the guards to the fact that he was ready to leave Clark's cell. But at that moment, Clark shifted and murmured quietly.
"Lois," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though his tongue sounded heavy in his sleep.
***
November 22, 1994
"Lois? Could I see you in my office a moment?"
Lois sighed and looked up from the stack of research before her in the conference room. Still dubbed "Command Center," it was in worse shape now than it had been the day after Clark had been captured.
"Sure, Chief," she answered, wearily pushing herself up out of her chair.
Perry pulled his head back through the door and led Lois over to his office. He shut the door behind her, then pulled closed the shades, blocking them out of view of everyone else in the bullpen. The late fall sun had already set and the lights of Metropolis twinkled beyond the windows behind Perry's desk.
Lois had once loved the sight of all those lights, but now they did little for her except make her more depressed. They reminded her all too well of the time Clark had flown them to the outskirts of the city, into the mountains. It had been the first time he'd taken her flying, being far too cautious about anyone ever catching him in the act of using his extraordinary gifts. Lois had loved every second of the leisurely flight. She hadn't feared the fact that she had been so far off the ground. She hadn't worried that there was nothing to protect her from a fall aside from Clark's strong arms. Instead, she had reveled in his embrace, trusting him completely. She had felt far safer and more secure than she ever had in her life. They had found a grassy field and had watched the stars until it had grown close to dawn. Then Clark had flown her home again, and the lights of the city had seemed so dim to her compared to those heavenly lights she'd shared with Clark.
"Lois, honey, are you okay?"
"Chief, you ask me that every day," Lois said, flopping down into the red plaid armchair in the corner of the room. "And every day I tell you the same thing. I'm surviving."
"Have you found anything new?"
Lois shook her head. "Not a thing. Oh, Perry...it's been so long now."
"I know," Perry said, sitting on the edge of his desk and facing Lois. "I know."
"Has your source...?" Lois asked, but Perry shook his head before she could finish.
"No. Uh, not yet. Yours?"
"Nothing. Detective Wolfe called me earlier. Said they found Babbling Bruno."
"Well, maybe he'll be able to contribute something. He's the one who gave you that bad lead on the drug ring."
Lois' lower lip trembled. "I don't think so. He's dead, Perry. I mean, Bruno. Not Clark. Oh God, please, not Clark."
"Hey now, we don't have any evidence to suggest that Clark is anything but alive."
"We have no evidence of anything, Chief. And that's what scares me."
Perry cleared his throat and tried to steer the conversation away from Lois' morbid thoughts. "So, uh, what happened to Bruno?"
"Don't know yet. Coroner just got his body about two hours ago. I haven't heard back anything yet. All they would say is that he's been dead a while. Probably killed right after I got that call from him about the supposed drug ring that got us into this whole mess. Trask mentioned he planted the lead. He must have killed Bruno right after, to cover his tracks."
Perry fell silent a moment.
"Is that all, Chief? I really need to get back to the conference room."
"No," Perry said haltingly, as though unsure of what to say. Or, perhaps, knowing exactly what to say but unsure of how to say it. "That's not exactly the whole reason I brought you in here."
"What?" Lois asked, seeing Perry's somber mood.
"There's, uh...there's been some talk around."
"Talk?"
"Lois, you know I want to find Clark as much as you do. Well, Clark and his parents. But, Lois, you haven't produced a page-one article - or any article, for that matter - since Clark disappeared. I'm getting letters asking if you were fired. Other members of the Planet are wondering why you're allowed to stay on staff."
"What are you getting at?"
"I need you to start chasing stories again, Lois."
"Perry! I can't do that!"
"Yes, you can. You have to. Now, I haven't pressed the issue this whole time. But I think it's about time that you got back in the saddle, so to speak."
"Perry, I can't just stop what I'm doing, trying to find Clark. His whereabouts aren't going to just fall out of the sky and into my lap."
"Look, I'm not asking you to give up your search. But I need you to take a break from it. Cover a few easy stories. Who knows? It might clear your head a little."
"Perry," Lois whined.
"No. No arguments this time, Lois. Now, there's a police academy graduation tomorrow morning. I want you to cover it. Take Rodriguez with you for photos."
"A police academy graduation?" Lois asked, deeply offended. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"I'm not kidding. I need you to get out there and do your job. But, I also don't want you getting too deeply involved with anything that will force you to stop trying to find your partner," Perry said, giving her a sly wink.
Lois nodded, knowing she would never win this battle. "Okay, fine. I'll do it."
"Of course you will. It wasn't an optional assignment."
"It's just...I feel like the answer is right under my nose, Chief. I just...can't see it yet," Lois said unhappily, leaning back into the chair's cushions and gesturing futilely.
"I know it's rough," Perry said sympathetically. "But we won't stop until we find Clark and bring his kidnappers to justice. I promise you that."
***
November 24, 1994
Lois grumbled as she struggled with the can of cranberry sauce, her ancient electric can-opener smoking as the beaten-down motor started to die. She switched the appliance off before it could start to spark and flame, rummaged through her kitchen drawers looking for a handheld opener, and finally threw the can across the room in frustration when she failed to find one. The can landed with a heavy thud against the wall. The aluminum dented and some of the red jelly leaked out from the half open top. Lois ignored the mess it was making.
"Honestly, Lois!" her mother admonished her. "Was that really necessary?"
"No," Lois snapped. "But it felt good."
"Such aggression," Ellen said, clucking her tongue and shaking her head. "You'd think we were fighting a war instead of preparing the Thanksgiving meal."
"A meal that I have no right to be enjoying," Lois said, crossing her arms and scowling at the offending can of cranberry sauce. "I was supposed to be sharing the holiday with Clark," she said, valiantly trying to hold back a fresh wave of tears.
"Have you found anything yet?" Lucy asked from her perch in the living room, sitting cross-legged on the couch and watching the Macy's parade.
"Nothing," Lois said, miserably.
"And you're sure that he was...taken?" Ellen asked, not looking up from her task of cleaning out the turkey innards.
"Mother!" Lois exclaimed, aghast at the suggestion.
"I'm not saying that he...staged it or anything, mind you. But, well, how well do you ever really know a person? I mean, look at the lengths your father went to in order to cover up his affairs and the fact that he wanted out of our marriage."
"Mom," Lois said, the word more a sigh than anything else. "I know Clark. He wouldn't stage his abduction or break free and then run away from me. He's not like Daddy. He loves me. And I love him. Believe me, Mom. Clark would move Heaven and Earth to get back here if he could. And the fact that he hasn't been able to come home...I'm the most scared I've ever been in my entire life."
"Lois...I...I'm sorry," her mother said, looking up from her work and reading the lines of pain in Lois' face.
"Wait, wait, wait. Back up a minute," Lucy said, tearing her eyes away from the colorful floats making their way down 5th Avenue.
"What?" Lois asked, irritated.
"Did you just...say that you're in love?" Lucy grinned at her older sister.
"I am. I really am," Lois nodded, a tiny smile ghosting over her lips.
Lucy launched herself off the couch and grabbed Lois in a hug. "That is so great! I've been waiting so long to see you in love!"
"Thanks," Lois said, trying to muster up another smile for Lucy, and only partially succeeding.
"Anything I can do to help, sis?"
"I'm afraid not. I've been working day and night trying to find him. But everything I can think of winds up in a dead end." Lois' shoulders slumped. She was close to feeling defeated.
Close, she thought. But not there yet. I'll keep looking until I either find him or die trying.
"So," Lucy said, deftly changing the subject. "What can I do?" She gestured to the various ingredients that had laid siege to Lois' kitchen.
"You could peel the potatoes," Ellen suggested, laying the turkey in a roasting pan and washing her hands.
"You know, it's stupid we're doing this here," Lucy complained as she picked up the vegetable peeler in readiness to attack the small army of potatoes on the counter. "You suck at cooking, Lois."
"My apartment has the biggest kitchen," Lois replied, rolling her eyes. They had this discussion at every holiday that Lois hosted.
The rest of the day passed in a blur for Lois. She made conversation with her mother and sister, but couldn't recall what had been discussed afterwards. The television kept up a steady stream of background noise, and after a while, the three women turned their attention to it. It was easier focusing on the old movies than trying to keep up the strained conversation between the three.
Lois could barely concentrate on the images flashing on the screen. Everything reminded her of Clark. The Christmas commercials were playing in full force, only adding salt to Lois' wounded heart, as she watched the happy couples drinking coffee before a roaring fire, or looking for the perfect gift, or sledding with their children. Clark had told her that Christmas was his very favorite holiday. He'd been so excited about the prospect of bringing her home to Smallville to celebrate that year.
That should be me, she thought glumly as yet another happy couple walked arm-in-arm down the sidewalk in the snow on the television. Will I ever find him?
Well after the meal was eaten and the dishes cleaned and put away, the three women said goodnight. Ellen left first, claiming a headache. Lucy wasn't far behind her, saying that she had promised a friend she would stop by for a late round of post-dessert drinks. Lois found herself missing their company after they departed, the sudden silence of her apartment oppressive, as though the very walls were caving in on her.
"What am I going to do?" she asked her fish, tossing some flakes of food into the water. The colorful fish raced each other to the surface and greedily started gulping down the flakes. "It's not like Clark's whereabouts are just going to be handed to me on a silver platter or fall out of the sky and hit me on the head. I've hit a wall, and I'm not sure where to turn next." She sighed. "Oh, Clark. Where are you?"
She had asked that question every day, often more than once, sometimes out loud and sometimes only within the dark confines of her tortured mind. And every day, she had been disappointed and frustrated to find herself no closer to the answer.
She moved to the kitchen, washed the smell of fish food from her hands, and was about to head to her bedroom when there was a knock at the door. Wondering who it could be, she moved cautiously into the living room. She didn't think it was her mother or sister.
"Who's there?" she called as she approached. "Lucy? Is that you?"
"Miss Lane?" asked a male's voice through the thick wood. It was not a voice Lois recognized.
"Who are you?"
"Please, Miss Lane, open up. I need to speak with you." There was a weighty pause. The voice lowered, so that Lois had to strain her ears to hear it. "I have information for you. It's about Clark."
Lois stood for a moment, frozen. Could this be the lead she was hoping for? Her heart leapt into her throat as that spark of hope fared into existence. Or was it some trick, some trap? Had Trask figured out that she had seen everything that day in the warehouse? She and Perry had kept that part of the story out of the papers. The only thing that had been mentioned was that Clark Kent had gone missing while on assignment, and that a report had been filed with the police after Clark had failed to show up for work. That had been true enough. Clark usually arrived at nine am on the dot. Lois had spoken with the police at ten am, after she had calmed down enough to talk in coherent sentences.
"Miss Lane?" The voice had become almost whining, almost begging. "Please."
Jarred suddenly back to the present, Lois stepped over to the door and began to undo the various deadbolts and locks. She kept the chain on and opened the door a crack to peek out. A thin, wiry older man stood behind the door, a woolen cap in his hands. He was nervously twisting the fabric in his fingers, and his fear-filled eyes kept darting about.
"Who are you?" Lois demanded.
"Someone who can help you," he whispered. "Please. Let me in and I'll tell you everything."
"You can tell me from the hallway."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "He might have spies."
"He? He who? Trask?"
The man in the hall simply nodded, his head moving so slightly it was nearly imperceptible. For another moment, Lois hesitated. But, she decided after an internal debate, it wasn't like she was helpless. She had already earned her brown belt in her self-defense classes and was going for her black belt. If this skinny, frail looking man gave her any trouble, she was certain she could flatten him without a problem. She closed the door, unhooked the chain, and let the man in.
"Come in," she said, her own eyes searching the hall. No one else seemed to be around.
"Thank you," the man said politely, stepping over the threshold.
Lois gestured to her living room and closed the door softly. The man ambled to the couch and sat heavily. Lois sat in a chair opposite him, taking in his appearance.
He had to be close to eighty. Stark white hair covered his head, thinning in places. It was impossible to tell what color it had once been. He was clean-shaven, and the left side of his face bore an ugly series of old scars, as though some kind of wild animal had once attacked him. And yet, his features were chiseled, hard, though not unkindly looking. His eyes were piercing blue, intelligent and fearful.
"Well?" Lois prompted, as the man took in his surroundings.
"My name is Steve Jenson," the man said after a moment. "I'm..."
"Steve Jenson?" Lois repeated. "Clark told me about you. You're one of Trask's men." Her voice hardened as she spoke.
Jenson sighed. "Yes, that's true. At least, I used to be. Or...I guess, I still am. I don't want to be, believe me. But, I have no choice."
"There's always a choice," Lois said harshly, crossing her arms.
"Trask...both Cameron and Jason...are...were...cruel men, Miss Lane. If I try to leave now, Jason will kill me. If I had tried to leave back then, so many years ago, Cameron would have killed me. I noticed you looking at my scars. No, no, don't be ashamed," he said soothingly as Lois flushed. "They are hard to ignore, I know. When your friend first escaped from Bureau Thirty-Nine, Cameron took his anger out on me. You see, I was the last person to see S...Clark...before he broke out of Cameron's compound. He blamed me for the boy's escape, as though I should have been able to prevent it. But Clark had hidden some of his powers from me. I was lucky that Trask didn't just flat out kill me. I've borne my scars ever since, a reminder that I will never escape the clutches of Bureau Thirty-Nine and the sins of my past. Then, not long ago, I heard tale that Cameron had died. I thought I was free."
"But his son was still out there," Lois supplied.
Jenson nodded. "Yes. Jason recently contacted me. He said he needed to speak with me. Like a fool, I went to him, never once imagining that he'd resurrected the Bureau. Never once did I, in my wildest dreams, imagine that he'd managed to recapture S."
"What did Trask want from you?"
"One of my jobs under the reign of Cameron was to monitor the alien's...Clark's...health. Of course, he was always healthy, more than any human being I'd ever met, before or since."
"So...what? Jason wanted to make sure that Clark...stayed healthy? I'm not buying it."
Jenson shook his head. "Not exactly. My job was to ensure that Clark didn't die."
Lois' heart seized up. "Was? What do you mean, was? Clark's not...not...please, tell me he's not..."
Jenson shook his head again, ever so slightly. "No. Not yet. But I fear time is running out for him. He's sick, Miss Lane. Terribly, terribly sick. There isn't much time left for him, I'm afraid."
"Can't you do something?" Lois practically shouted, a few frightened tears slipping past her eyelids and down her cheeks.
"I've tried, Miss Lane. But Clark's body doesn't work like yours or mine. I can't just administer some kind of medication to him. His body would burn it off too quickly for it to have any effect. He needs sunlight for his body to heal itself properly. But the sunlight will restore his powers too. And Jason won't risk that. I don't think he even cares one way or another if Clark lives or dies anymore."
"Wait, what do you mean, anymore?"
Jenson sighed. "I haven't been privy to everything, you must understand that. But I've kept my eyes and ears open. Cameron had a plan to use Clark and his abilities to exact revenge on the people who'd once wronged him. But as Clark grew, so did Trask's plans. He wanted to use Clark to crush world governments."
Lois nodded. "I've heard something to this effect before, from Clark."
"Well," Jenson continued. "Let's just say that the rotten apple didn't fall far from the tree. Jason wants to do the same. He's tortured Clark, or, at the very least, has had his men do it for him, I think. His parents too."
"Jonathan and Martha?" Lois asked, before she could stop herself. "Are they...?"
"Still alive and much better off than Clark is, for the time being. I don't know how much longer that might be the case, though. Trask has kept them alive, hoping to hold their pain and possible deaths over Clark. So far, he's refused to bend to Jason's will. I think Trask's patience is just about gone though. If he can't twist Clark into his own willing and obedient puppet, I fear Jason will kill them all."
"Who else have you told this to?" Lois asked, jumping up and starting to pace.
"Just you."
"Me? Why not the police? Why not the FBI? Why not the entire Metropolis division of the SWAT team?"
"Because, Miss Lane, I'm afraid. If Trask discovers that I've gone to the police, he'll kill me."
"He'll kill you anyway if he realizes that you've come to me tonight," Lois argued back.
"You're right, of course," Jenson conceded with a weary sigh. "If he finds out, that is. But if, say, in a few hours, a certain investigative journalist were to stumble upon blueprints for the abandoned underground nuclear fallout bunkers beneath the Metropolis Trade Tower...the ones built by a certain recently fallen billionaire...well, he can hardly blame me for that, can he?"
"Mr. Jenson...stay here and let me call the police. They can protect you."
"No," Jenson said, shaking his head. "I need to get back. I'll do what I can to keep Clark alive. Besides, if Trask notices that I've been gone for so long, he'll be suspicious. He might panic and put a bullet in Clark's head." Jenson checked his watch. "I've got to be back within twenty minutes. Trask gave me permission to leave only long enough to gather news on the investigation of Clark's disappearance. I need to leave now."
Jenson stood from the couch and jammed the hat back onto his aging head. He crossed the room with confident strides and reached for the doorknob.
"Jenson, wait," Lois called after him. He turned towards her. "How long have you known that Clark was in trouble?"
"Not long. A few days now."
"And you're only just coming to me now?"
Jenson sighed regretfully. "It took me some time to figure out who he was. When I spoke with him, he said his name was Clark. He mumbled your name once, in his sleep. I just didn't put the pieces together until tonight, when Trask asked me to check on the state of things above ground. I'm sorry for that. And...well...Trask keeps a close eye on everything. I haven't been allowed to leave the compound before now."
Lois sighed, but nodded. "One more thing. Why? Why are you helping Clark? Not that I'm ungrateful, mind you," she quickly added.
For a moment, Jenson just stood there. He sighed heavily. "Because, Miss Lane, no matter how hard I tried, I failed as a scientist. I was supposed to merely observe and experiment, that was all. But, I could never detach myself fully from the boy. I used to find myself forgetting that he isn't human. He was simply a frightened young boy. And now, he's a hurting, abused, and dying man. As much as you might not believe it, I care about him, and I don't want to see him lose his life."
With that, Jenson opened the door, stepped through the opening, and shut the door behind him. Lois bounded after him, threw open the door, and searched the hall. For an old man, Jenson had moved swiftly. Lois hadn't even gotten the chance to thank the man for his information.
Assuming it was true.
Assuming he wasn't working for Trask in order to ensnare her as well.
"No," Lois said, to no one in particular, as she closed the door to her apartment again. "I've seen liars before. Jenson was telling me the truth. Clark, just hold on for me a little while longer," she whispered to the empty air around her. "I'm coming. And I'm bringing Metropolis' finest with me. Trask will either be in handcuffs or a body bag by the morning."
To Be Continued...
