Linda sat on a stool and concentrated, mouthing the words of Imagine Dragons' 'Demons' as she worked her fingers through the pile of clay on the pedestal in front of her. The back portion of the former flower shop had been converted into a studio—complete with a kiln for firing her sculptures; she had left the windows intact to allow sunlight to stream through, letting sunlight pour in, giving her a lot of natural lighting for her work.
"'I wanna hide the truth,'" Linda sang softly as she continued kneading the clay, molding it effortlessly, 'I wanna shelter you, but with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide." She started bobbing her head a little as the beat increased. "'When you feel my heat, look into my eyes, it's where my demons hide, it's where my demons hide.'"
"Happy Birthday, Short Stack."
Linda paused and looked up; she saw Clark standing in the doorframe, dressed in civilian clothes, smiling at her. "Hey, Clark," she replied, smiling as her fingers moved smoothly through the cold material. "Thank you. How did you know I was here?"
"Stopped by the farm," Clark answered as he walked over and pulled up a nearby stool; he sat down close to her. "Mom and Dad said you were going to spend the day here."
"They're not mad, are they?" Linda asked.
"Why would they be mad?" Clark asked, furrowing his eyebrows.
Linda shrugged. "I know they let me come here," she replied, "but I think they wanted me to stay on the farm…especially Dad."
"They were a little disappointed," Clark replied, "but not mad; they know you have work to do." He heard the soft sigh and saw the expression on his cousin's face. "Linda, I know you're feeling cooped up—I've been there, believe me, I get it—but it won't be forever."
"Clark, I get it," Linda said, trying to keep her voice even, "but it doesn't mean I have to like it." The young girl wanted to say more, to vent her frustrations, but she didn't think it was the time or place; she kept quiet as she pressed her fingers into the clay, molding it.
The reporter knew his cousin wanted to say more, but he fought the urge to push; he knew she would when she was ready. He gave his cousin a sympathetic expression and sighed before glancing back at the mound of clay. "So, what's this going to be?" he asked gently.
"Well, I'm hoping for a zhehiodia," Linda replied.
"Is that a Kryptonian candleholder?" Clark joked.
In spite of things, Linda smiled a little. "It's a type of musical instrument," she answered, "like a mix between a French horn and a bugle, but with extra chambers."
"What did it sound like?" Clark asked, genuinely intrigued.
"I don't know," Linda replied, "but Rok-Var told me once that notes played from it penetrated deep into one's soul—almost as if it was a living entity; that's what zhehiodia means: 'living wind.'"
Clark saw the sadness in her eyes; he put a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sure it must have been a beautiful sound," he said.
Linda looked over and gave him a small, grateful smile. "Thanks," she replied. She turned back to her work and and saw her fingers had bore deep grooves into clay, effectively ruining the piece; she groaned. "Duches."
"Linda," Clark admonished his cousin.
"What?" the young girl asked, annoyed, as she worked the clay into a formless ball. "I wasn't swearing; that wasn't a swear word."
"Uh huh," Clark replied, looking unconvinced.
"It isn't," Linda protested, "I swear; it's a word we had for this tar-like substance on Argo City."
"So, why are you using it like that?" Clark asked, amused, the corners of his mouth turned up a little.
Linda paused and she tilted her hear, trying to remember why she would use such a mundane word in that manner. "You know," she said, "I honestly can't remember." The two cousins glanced at each other for a moment, then burst into chuckles. After a few moments, they calmed down.
"Well, I guess I'll head back to the farm so you can work in peace," Clark replied as he got to his feet. "There's a lot to do before tonight, and I know Mom and Dad could use all the help they can get."
"I could help, too," Linda replied, smiling slyly.
"I'm sure you could," Clark said, smiling, "but we are trying to keep some birthday surprises for tonight." His family had never been big on birthdays—and he'd personally never had any childhood parties due to his developing abilities—but Clark wanted Linda's first birthday celebration in her new home to be special.
"I could take a mental peek, if I wanted to," Linda teased.
"But you won't," Clark retorted as he gently poked the tip of her nose. "You want to be surprised just as much as we want you to."
"Could I have just a little hint?" Linda pleaded.
"Nope," Clark replied smugly before he grabbed the stool and moved it back to its original spot, putting it down; he came back over and kissed her cheek. "Be back around four, okay?"
"Okay," Linda grinning, as she went back to working on her clay, humming softly along with her music.
"But I don't want the pink ones! I want the blue ones!"
"Why does this cost so much?"
"I thought you said you paid the bill."
"I need three lattes, extra whip, no sugar!"
"This roll is a little stale, can I have a muffin, instead?"
Linda stopped working and looked around, confused. She had distinctly heard a bunch of different voices, but there was no one in the studio with her, not even Clark. The voices quickly grew in volume and number, jumbling together with her music and the sounds of passing cars in a cacophony of noise; the young girl's eyebrows furrowed as the noises continued to intensify, and she could feel—and to her disbelief hear—her heart pounding in her ears. The blaring sound of a horn honking—sounding as if it was right next to her—caused her to shout in pain, and she quickly covered her ears, squeezing her eyes shut.
"Clark!" she cried out.
Clark blurred back into the studio and stopped just inside the door; he looked around, his eyes falling on his cousin. He saw her sitting on her stool, hunched over, her eyes closed and hands covering her ears; he hurried and knelt beside her.
"Linda?" Clark asked, concerned.
"The noise," Linda whimpered. "It's too loud."
"What are you talking about?" Clark asked, confused and a little worried. "The only thing on is your radio, and it's not that loud."
"The voices," Linda continued. "I can hear the voices, the cars, my heart…and why are you shouting?"
"I'm not shouting," Clark said. "I'm talking in a—" He stopped short when the realization hit him. "Oh…."
"What?" Linda asked, the noises becoming more muffed. She carefully opened her eyes and looked up at her cousin; she furrowed her eyebrows, confused as to why he was smiling at her. "Why are you smiling?"
"I think your hearing might be kicking in," Clark replied.
"Now?" Linda asked in disbelief. "It hasn't even been a month since I got super-breath."
Clark shrugged. "I don't know," he replied honestly, "but I think you're going to have to change your plans." Linda sighed, frustrated, and Clark gave her a sympathetic expression as he stood up. "I know, I know, not how you wanted to spend the day." He held out his hand; she reluctantly accepted it, and Clark put an arm around her shoulders and led her out of the studio.
"I'm not sure this is going to work," Linda said slowly. She stood in the middle of Chandler's Field, looking at the empty pasture covered in a light blanket of snow.
Clark stood next to her, holding two portable radios. "Linda, how many powers have you gotten since you arrived?" he asked, trying not to smile.
"Everything but flying," Linda replied dryly.
"And how many abilities have I helped you control?" Clark continued.
"Everything but super-breath," Linda responded in the same tone, "and flight."
"So, don't you think I might know what I'm doing?" Clark asked, amused.
"Honestly, I think it's just been dumb luck this entire time," Linda answered, folding her arms.
"Good to know you still have your sense of humor," Clark smiled. "Now, are you ready to get this thing under control?"
Linda shrugged. "I guess," she said uncertainly.
Clark turned the radios on and cranked up the volume before setting them down next to her feet. He stood up and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her right in the eyes. "I want you to focus on my voice," he said loudly over the rock music blaring from the speakers. "Okay?"
Linda nodded and watched her cousin blur to the other side of the field, about a hundred yards away. He stood near the fence, facing her, and Linda could see his mouth moving, but she couldn't hear anything over the loud music. She started feeling frustrated, but she took a deep breath and let it out slowly, relaxing as she furrowed her eyebrows, focusing. A few moments passed before the loud music seemed to fade into silence as she slowly picked up her cousin's voice.
"…do it. Just focus on my voice, Linda. Block everything out, except my voice; make it the only sound in the world. I know you can do it."
Linda slowly smiled, both pleased and surprised that it actually worked. "Clark, I can hear you," she said.
Clark smiled proudly from his spot. "I knew you could do it," he said, never raising his voice above a soft whisper. "You wanna try again?" He saw Linda nod enthusiastically, and the reporter took a deep breath. "Okay, let's try something a little more challenging."
(End of Chapter 2)
