Hi, my name is Michael Sullivan. My friends call me Mike. Today I'm starting a mission of sorts. Well, I guess I should start with the basics. The basics being, I'm adopted, and my adoptive mother is Superman's best friend. She works at this place called Watchtower where she helps superheroes save the world. Ever since I came around, three years ago, when I was twelve, I've seen this picture of some red-headed lady on the wall and I have no idea who she is. I get the same answer every time I ask about her. Uncle Clark always says, "She's a courageous hero," him always thinking the best of everyone. Aunt Lois always laughs and says, "A pit-bull in Prada," which I never really understood, but that's what she says. And my Mom says, "An unexpected friend," why she was so unexpected I don't know either. Uncle Oliver just shakes his head and whispers "Mercy." So obviously he knew her pretty well and isn't willing to talk about it.
My mom is what most people call computer savvy. She taught me a lot so I figure I'll start tracking her down by running a simple facial recognition scan. My mom must have known I was going to pursue this because she blocked the scan before I even searched it. "Come on," I mutter under my breath, glaring at the screen.
Who else would have known this strange woman? Maybe Lana Lang, Mom's childhood friend who just came back into the picture, though not as much as before. She just took care of her kryptonite issue. She's part of the Justice League, but not really a part of our close circle. Her apartment is about two blocks from here, so I can walk. I grab my jacket and head out the door. I take two stairs at a time, trying to move as quickly as possible.
When I finally arrive at her door, I prepare myself on what I'm going to say. I knock three times. She opens the door and a puzzled look appears on her face for a brief moment, but then she recovers herself and puts on the warm look that always graces her features. "Hey, Mike, what's up?" I take a deep breath before I continue.
"I need to ask you something. Are you busy?" Lana shakes her head. She gestures for me to come in.
"Would you like something to drink? Water, iced tea, a coke?"
"Water, please." She nods her head and goes to retrieve a glass of water. I sit down in a chair. The apartment is a one-bedroom, with a small living room and a kitchen. It's decorated with a warm country feel with a touch of modern. It's a personal style unique to Lana. She returns with the glass of water I asked for. "Thank you," I say as she hands it to me. She seats herself on couch directly across from me.
"So, what's bugging you?" I take a sip of water then set it down on the coffee table in between us. I take yet another deep breath, unsure how to go about this.
"You know that picture that's hanging up in Watchtower? The one with the red-head?" she glances cautiously at me before nodding her head. "Who is she?"
"How much has your mom told you?"
"I've heard courageous hero, unexpected friend, and pit-bull in Prada." She chuckles at the last one.
"Pit-bull in Prada was Lois, right?" I nod.
"Mike, if your mom hasn't told you anything, neither can I. I'm sorry."
"Why won't she tell me anything?"
"Her story's complicated. She's… different than your average hero."
"She didn't have any powers?"
"No, she didn't. But that's not what made her different," she pauses and shakes her head slightly, "she was different."
"Who else knew her?"
"Everyone. Mike, leave it alone. Go home, be a normal teenager."
I lie. I nod my head and say "Okay." But since everyone knew her, there has to be someone that could explain. I'm going to be so dead for it, but no one else will answer so I have to go to Lex Luthor. A friend of mine works for him, he's an intern but still, he's been interning for 6 months and he's still alive. And he doesn't have anything really horrible against Mom, so I'll probably make it out alive. Besides, I know there's absolutely no logic to it, but I have a gut feeling he would know more than most.
I get up and walk towards the door. "Thanks though." I wave back at Lana and head down the hall, down the stairs, and over to the Luthorcorp. building. I debate on what I plan on saying. I mean, I can't flat out tell him that my mom is Superman's sidekick. I have a feeling that wouldn't take too well. I'll tell him that the picture is in our house and that I keep asking and no one will tell me much about her so I'm interviewing everyone that knew her. It's not too far from the truth, right?
I walk through the big, glass double doors and I into the bustling lobby of Luthorcorp. A woman comes up to me and asks what my business is, because let's face it, how many fifteen year olds come into the lobby of the largest corporation in world? Not many, right? I tell her I'd like to see my interning friend and she gives me directions on where to find him, which I follow until I'm out of her sight. Then, I change directions toward Lex's office. I knock on the door and a half-minded, "Come in," encourages me in.
"Hi, I'm Mike Sullivan." Lex looks up from the papers that are scattered across his desk.
"Chloe's kid, right?"
I nod, still a little unsure of myself. He puts his pen down and looks up at me with searching eyes.
"How can I help you?"
"Well I wanted to ask you a question."
"What question would you want to ask me?" he asked, placing special emphasis on the word me.
Stick to the plan. "This is going to sound kind of… um… random. But the red-head, who is she?" Well that came out a lot less confident than it was supposed to.
"Your mom wouldn't explain?"
"I got the feeling I wasn't supposed to ask. And I knew that if I asked and didn't get an answer that I wouldn't be able to ask anyone else." Good thing I wasn't confident or that would not have worked.
"And you didn't think I'd try to hurt you."
"I didn't think you had a reason to." I begin to squirm, letting my uncomfortable feeling to shine through so I sold the awkward teenager persona. He bought it, I think, anyway.
"Should I be worried that you do?" I ask after a moment of silence. He silently chuckles to himself and shakes his head.
"No."
After another period of silence I ask again, "Who's the red-head?"
"How detailed do you want me to be?"
"Well, a name would be a good start."
"Fair enough. Her name was Tess Mercer."
It's a completely legitimate statement, right? But one thing about it caught my attention. Was, he said was. "What happened to her?"
"What do you mean?" he returns. I'm not even sure he meant to say was. Maybe it was a slip of the tongue. But maybe not, and I've spent enough time with my Mom to know to explore every option.
"You said was. That means past tense. What happened to her?" I clarified.
"She died," he said just a little too simply, curtly. He didn't give any details, it was almost as though he didn't want me to know any more. But me being my mother's son, regardless of the fact that I'm adopted, she has still rubbed off on me, I pressed for details.
"How?" I push.
"Suicide," he said, still vague. Finally I begin to realize that I'm not going to get much more out of him. And with my handy-dandy laptop and her newfound name I'll be able to track her down in a way that would make my mother proud, if I could tell her, that is.
"Thank you," I say, turning to leave.
