Clark touched down in the side yard and entered through the kitchen. It was only two. He was half-hopeful, half-afraid she'd be there. A quick trip through the rooms, however, told him she wasn't. He was nearly ready to call her until he heard a shuffling just outside the front door. Something told him this wasn't the mailman. He quickly looked through. It was Dodie, bending toward their welcome mat. He rolled his eyes, getting really tired of not facing the batshit behavior in this neighborhood head-on. He sped into his clothes and opened the door. "Can I help you?"
She jumped and straightened, grasping an envelope to her skinny chest. "Oh, Kent... Well..." She looked down at the envelope, her lips thinning even more. "I was hoping to avoid this with my..." She waved the envelope slightly. "Well, never mind." She smiled slightly. "We have a problem and, as a concerned neighbor and member of the Metropolis vista Home Owners' Association, I feel it is my duty to address it."
"What is it?" he asked, resting his hand on the outside knob. He was suddenly too damned tired for pleasantries.
"There's a little matter of an oil spot on the street just in front of your house. I've noticed your car hasn't been here these last days and I can only assume the problem is being addressed."
"An oil spot," he repeated. He'd hardly looked out front.
"If you read our CCRs, then you know that any unsightly stains must be taken care of as quickly as possible. I'm sure there are many products available to help fix up this mess in no time, but I suggest you use them before the week is out or there may be a fine involved."
"Great," he sighed. "Will do."
He began to close the door, but Dodie stopped it... and easily. He must be tired. "Might I suggest parking in your garage from now on." She smiled. "Best to cut these things off before they become a blemish, you know."
He didn't have time to explain to Dodie that the garage was full of the crap Perry had made them take from his own garage "to make it convincing." More likely it was to leave room for Perry's own car. "You know what? That's a great idea. I'll tell Lanie."
He tried to close the door again, but there she was. "How do you ever get around with only one car?" she asked, shaking her head. "I usually see Lanie driving it. Do you take cabs? If you think a car is expensive, then think of what you're spending on..."
He looked to the left, pretending there was a clock there. "Oh, darn it all."
"Oh, what's..."
"I have a very important phone meeting and I'm already five minutes late."
"Oh, of course. I'm sorry to have..." This time, he did close the door. He just didn't care. He was tired and cranky and... so damned tired. He wiped his hand on his pant leg, finding it damp. Was he sweating now? He wiped his slimy hand again. He couldn't tell. His only experiences with perspiration had been four years ago, when he'd been briefly mortal. He didn't like it then either.
He started for the kitchen, spied something blue on the fridge. It was a post-it.
Thanks for the ditch. I'll remember this.
Don't wait up.
Lois
He crumpled the note and tossed it into the sink. It wasn't a ditch... It just looked like one. How could he tell her that everything he did was for her? Would that day, that conversation, ever come? He hoped so. In the meantime... He moved to his briefcase and took out his cell. He'd call her and... He suddenly turned toward the front door. That oil spot...
He walked slowly toward the front door, feeling incapable of even speed, he was so tired. He moved toward the street, eyes intent on the area just out front until he saw it. He bent down, running his finger over the asphalt. He knew fluids. He'd fixed his old truck and the tractor enough to know what was what. It wasn't motor oil. It wasn't dark enough, at least not for her. He knew she never had it changed until it was at crisis point. It was a spot, about five inches wide. And he'd just bet there were smaller dots that could be followed all the way to Smallville, where her brakes had finally given out.
So... it had been here? Someone here had drained her...
He straightened, tired and confused and full of more questions. He moved to the house and pulled the front door open. He grabbed his cell, dialing Larry's Domestic and Foreign Repair. "Hey, Larry. It's Clark. I was just wondering about the... Oh, she did? No, that's fine... Yeah. Guess I do owe her one. How long ago? Okay, then. Yeah. You, too. Have a good one."
He dialed her cell. It rang, but only twice before switching to voicemail. He knew what that meant. She'd turned it off. Well, fine! At least he knew where she was. She was there... or she had been. Maybe she'd be home soon.
He paced slightly. She must have got a cab. He wished he'd just dropped her there himself. He didn't like the idea of her in Smallville, left to her own devices, especially with what happened last time. Then again, nothing had happened in Smallville. It had happened here, only the failure of her brakes had happened there and maybe he should be glad for it. There were fields there, empty plains, hills... It could have happened in the city, full of too many other cars for her to smash into into and...
He changed quickly. He couldn't sit here. He had to find her. He just had to be sure she was okay. He rose up from the side yard, feeling slightly dizzy. Tonight, he'd sleep. He must need it.
But first, he just had to know she was okay.
****************************
Lois snapped her cell phone closed after it finished powering down. "Take that, Clark," she whispered. "I don't take calls from ditchers." She walked unsteadily on the unpaved ground, adjusting her coat. It wasn't as cold as it could be for late November, but something about this place gave her the chills.
She tripped slightly on a loose rock, wondering why she hadn't opted for sneakers. Then again, a meeting with Lex Luthor didn't exactly scream casual dress. She felt cowed even in her suits. Probably because hers came off a clearance rack at Sears while his were hand-tailored in Italy. Of course, when he finally came into view, standing just outside the cave, nothing about him looked tailored. Sure, his clothes were still the best, but they seemed to hang on him and were even a little wrinkled. He was wearing just dress pants and an untucked shirt. It was a bit cold for that. He didn't even have a coat on. But he wasn't shivering. In fact, he was pacing.
She continued toward him, taking off her sunglasses. It seemed darker in the shadow of the cave. "Mr. Luthor?"
He started slightly and stilled. "Miss Lane? I was wondering when you'd..." he stopped, staring openly at her.
She stopped in her tracks. "I came as quickly as I could." People did seem to enjoy staring at her today. "Is something wrong?"
"No, of course not," he said quickly, a brief smile quirking one side of his mouth before leaving. His eyes looked red and darted around him. "Everything's fine. Just a little anxious to show you the..." He trailed off again. "Have you done something different with yourself?"
She shook her head. "Not that I know of." She tried a smile. "You seem to be trying a new look, though."
He looked down at himself, squinting slightly. "Oh, I just dressed down. I've given my staff some time off. Didn't want the bother of all those people. I just wanted to be alone." He turned away, moving into the cave, still speaking low, almost furtively. "Always asking how I'm feeling, looking at me, trying to stop it. I know what they..." His voice trailed into whispers and her ears strained as she followed him in. Was he truly pulling a Howard Hughes? No tissue boxes on his feet yet, but he did seem fairly incoherent.
"Mr. Luthor," she said sharply.
He stopped, turning so quickly, she nearly collided with him. "Yes? What?"
She stepped back hurriedly. "What was it you wanted me to see here?" She looked around. It was dark. There was scaffolding. She could see dim colors on the walls, but not much else.
"Something important," he said, his eyes wide. He moved to one corner and flipped a switch. Work lights turned on around them, clamped to the scaffolding. He looked up and around, his eyes darting every which way. "I don't know what it is, but it's important and I've only just begun to see it..."
She couldn't see it. She couldn't seem to look away from him, his strange and twitchy movements distracting her. She glanced down at his arm. The cuff on his right wrist was undone and his other hand was rubbing, fingers lightly scratching the inside of his arm. She saw red marks, like needle marks. The headline "Lex Luthor On Heroine" briefly flashed through her mind. It would make sense except... It just didn't. Why would a man in his position throw his life away on a high? "Mr. Luthor, if there's a better time to..."
"No," he said, his eyes finally resting on hers, nearly frantic. "You're not looking. You have to look. You have to see it."
She swallowed hard, nodding. She heard him release a harsh breath when she turned, her eyes finding the cave walls. They were paintings, faded, ancient, but... He was right. There was this feeling of... awe that accompanied them. Was it the age of them that did it? The fact that they were drawn so long ago, that someone believed whatever it was they said so fiercely that they laid them down here, in this secret place. They seemed... sacred somehow. "What..." She cleared her throat. It suddenly seemed tight again. "What do they say?"
"I couldn't get all of it," she heard him say as she stepped forward, looking over the pictures, the shapes. "I've had scholars here and those Kawatche who are still local. The pictures seem to tell a story, but the symbols, no one knows for sure. The Kawatche had no written alphabet. But the story seems to match a legend that was passed down for generations."
She turned toward him when he stayed silent. "What's the story?"
"It's silly, but so... timely." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. Some say, a man fell from the sky, from the stars." He laughed slightly. "He fell in love with a the mother of their people and the Kawatchi were born from this. Then he left, promising he'd send another. Others say it's not a legend, but a prophecy. The story of Naman. He'd fall from the sky in a rain of fire. He'll have the strength of ten men, and shoot fire from his eyes.' He's supposed to save the world. Silly, but... As I said, it is timely."
Superman, her mind screamed. But she didn't say it. "Funny coincidence," she said instead, moving to the right. Her eyes lighted on a two-headed monster. "What's that supposed to be? Did the Kawatche have their own version of Godzilla?" She turned, trying a smile again.
He didn't answer it. "I don't think it's supposed to be literal. It represents Naman's great enemy, Sageeth. Apparently, he's like Naman's brother until he turns against him. The ultimate evil to Naman's ultimate good. That's the most ridiculous part." He shook his head, squinting at the walls. "There is no ultimate good or ultimate evil. There's only power and those who know how to use it right. But how do you know, really?" He turned to her, but his eyes seemed to look straight through her. "For all his supposed heroics, what is he doing really? He's gaining support, followers. He could have everything. he could rule the world and don't think he won't try to... Yes. This is very timely."
She shivered slightly, nearly afraid to speak. She knew he was speaking of. Once, at the Halloween Ball, he'd voiced some concerns about Superman. She hadn't agreed, of course. And now? Well, knowing what she did, it was even more ludicrous. The idea of Clark Kent turning Superman's popularity into a bid for world domination... "This one's pretty," she said brightly, her eyes drawn to what looked like a woman's face with a U over her head, floating over a shaped object. A blue diamond, surrounded by a rectangular shape with white lines that moved outward. And it was pretty. She could hardly look away.
"His true love, apparently. But that's not important. This is it. This place..."
She tore her eyes away from the woman and looked toward him. He was standing in front of a section of cave wall with no drawing, only those symbols. He said the Kawatche had no alphabet and yet she knew they meant something. She couldn't explain how. It was like something seen in a dream.
"Am I crazy?" he whispered. It echoed slightly in the cave. She really couldn't answer that either way. She stayed silent behind him. He turned to her. "What do you see here?"
She shrugged. "Just more of those symbols, but you said no one could read them."
"It's not the symbols. I feel as if... As if the walls will open and this bright light will shine through and I'll... Nothing. It's gone." She watched as he scratched at his arm again. "I need more," he muttered. "It's not working?"
"What's not working?" she asked, unable to stop her curiosity any longer. She was tired, drained, her head had been pounding steadily since this morning and she was just tired of dancing around his crazy.
He turned slowly. "You like to ask questions, but you don't answer any, do you? What do you see here?" He was moving toward her.
She stepped backward. "I told you. Just more of those symb..."
"No!" He shook slightly as he came forward. "You see more than that. I feel it. Something in my gut told me about you. I think that's why I felt drawn to seek your help." He laughed. "But you haven't helped, have you?"
"Mr. Luthor, I've tried to..."
"I sent you those articles," he went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Those discs. All I wanted was answers, but you give me nothing and yet I... I still feel it. You have something I need. I just... I know it."
She moved back again, but he leapt forward, grasping her by the arms. "Let me go."
"Tell me what you know. There's something. I know it. I see it. I see you."
"You've gone crazy."
"You wouldn't be the first to say it." He smiled, more a baring of teeth than a real grin. "But I'm seeing things now. Flashes of... reality. So clear and so... fleeting." He suddenly let go and stumbled backward. He turned, tripping slightly, and braced himself against the opposite wall, his back to her. "It hurts," he said softly. His free hand moved to his head. "I can't..."
"Mr. Luthor?" She stepped forward, wary. "Do you need a doctor?"
"No. I... I'm sorry about that. I just... I'm not myself today." He stayed facing away. "You should go."
"Maybe I should call..."
"Just Go!" He yelled, turning, his face red and tight. "Get out of here!"
And she did, stumbling her way out of the cave and to the car, driving over the rough road, toward the paved streets. She didn't stop until she hit town. She pulled over, then, gasping, nearly choking on her own breath.
She stayed still, willing her breathing to normalize. She closed her eyes, willing the image of his eyes away.
Something in them frightened her more than... to be honest, she couldn't recall ever being so frightened. Her breathing evened, though the steady pounding in her head didn't stop. That was nothing new. She hardly knew she was alive anymore if her head wasn't throbbing at least a little. She breathed deeper, trying to envision sandy beaches or some other supposedly relaxing thing. She finally gave up, opening her eyes and shifting out of park. She had to get back. As mad as she was at Clark, it was nearing four. She should get back to the house before he took an impromptu flight out to find her.
**************************
"Couldn't find her anywhere. Wasn't on the freeway, wasn't in the city. I went to the house again and..."
"Clark, sit down." His mother moved toward him and pulled at his arm, moving him toward the couch. "I really think you should relax. It sounds like you've had a trying day and..."
"Mom, I can't just..."
"Clark, sit!"
He did, staring at her. His mother leaned over him, putting her lips on his forehead. It was a little business-like to be a show of affection, however. "Mom, I'm fine..."
"You feel a little warm."
He rolled his eyes. "You, of all people, should know that temperature is no way to tell how I am. I'm just worried and..."
"Overworked?" she suggested, sitting next to him
"No. I just..."
"You'll run yourself down. You've done it before. Why didn't you just call these numbers?"
"Because, if it was him, he might have an idea that someone's looking for him and run off."
"Still, I wish you'd saved yourself the trouble. Remember what happened last time you spread yourself too thin, trying to clean up the city after the black-outs?"
"Yes. I got sick. Only once in my life, I got sick."
"Because you ran yourself down."
"Mom, I told you. That was probably a virus I picked up in the Phantom Zone."
"You don't know that. Everyone has their breaking points, Clark, even you." She ran a hand over his forehead. "And I say this with the utmost love, but Sweetie... You look like hell."
"Yeah. Thanks." He closed his eyes and leaned back. Maybe he was coming down with something. On the way over, he'd felt... unsteady. The wind had seemed so strong, nearly blowing him off course. Usually, he could cut through the wind as if it were nothing. Today, he felt a stiff breeze would blow him over. "I don't know. Maybe you're right."
"I'm always right." She sighed. "From what you tell me, a lot has happened these last few days. Lois knows now, the both of you have a lot on your plates. This could be a reaction to all the stress, but it could also be sickness. And I'd feel a lot better if I thought the both of you were spending more time in bed."
To his credit, he kept his eyes closed and made no sudden moves. He hadn't told her, wouldn't tell her, that he and Lois had spent a significant amount of time in bed these last few days. Just not resting. There were some things a mother just didn't need to know... ever again. But she was right. He needed rest and so did she. "I might be overreacting."
"You think?"
"She's probably fine. I mean, she only turned her cell off when I called." He opened his eyes, glancing at her. "We're in a little fight over the story and..."
"Don't want to hear it," Martha said, standing. "I don't want to hear anything from you for a full twenty-four hours except light snoring."
"Oh, Mom, I'm..."
"I'm serious. In fact, I'm going to call Lois periodically and tell her to put the phone up to you and I'll be able to tell if..."
"I got it, I got it." he stood, listing forward slightly.
"Oh, Clark." She grasped his arm. "Are you sure you can fly?"
"I got here, Mom."
"But maybe I should give you a lift back just in..."
"I'm fine. I'll get there faster my way."
She stared hard at him. "I'll expect a call in no more than ten minutes, then."
He smiled. "Sure, Mom."
Halfway back, he wondered if he shouldn't have taken her up. Everything felt so... off. When he finally touched down, it was the middle of the street. It was dark, though. No one could see. And he just couldn't fly another second. He was so tired, so weak... He moved to the front door, pulling his key from his boot, looking around yet hardly caring. He just needed to get in. It was so cold. It didn't usually bother him, but now his teeth chattered with it. He grasped the knob and turned, nearly falling in. He stumbled to the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him. He pulled the phone from the cradle. Had to call Mom. She'd said to. He'd only punched two numbers when his hand gave out, dropping the phone with a clatter. What's happening?
He didn't ask aloud and no one was there to answer. The room was darkening, but not just with the night. His eyes were closing, his body lowering. There was no control, only chaos and darkness and a dull ache that stole over him. "Make it stop," he heard someone whimper as blackness took him.
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