"Clark, are you alright?"
Clark looked across the table to his mother. "Yeah, I'm good."
"You haven't touched your breakfast yet."
Clark glanced down at his plate. The whole house smelled like sizzling bacon, eggs, and coffee. "Oh, yeah, I was just thinking."
Clark caught a concerned glance that shot between his mother and father, Martha and Jonathan Kent.
His father put down the newspaper he was reading. "Something on your mind?"
Clark's fork pinged against the edge of the plate. From the livingroom a local weatherman gave his forecast.
Sunny in Sunnydale.
Clark couldn't quite look his parents in the eyes. "I was doing some thinking last night…"
"...about?" his mother asked.
"About the day you guys found me."
"Oh?" His father was trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. But Clark could hear the confusion underneath.
"Yeah," Clark said. "I was wondering if you guys could tell me about it again?"
His father took a sip of his black coffee. Stalling for time. "Clark, we've told that story a hundred times. You probably know it by heart."
"Please? I just want to confirm something."
"...well, alright then." His father's chair squeaked when the man leaned back into it. "Martha and I were out on the road, heading back home after buying flowers. We were out by coors field when the shower came down-"
Clark felt his grip on his fork tighten.
"-one of the meteors landed in the field right next to us. The shockwave overturned the truck. We blacked out. When we came too, your mom and I were hanging there, upside down. We tried to get out of the wreckage but we couldn't. That's when you came along. You couldn't have been more than three. You lifted up the corner of my truck and just smiled at us. Once we'd gotten free of the wreck, I went to where the meteor landed, found your ship…"
They were right, Clark did know this story by heart. Clark watched his father as the man spoke. Clark's eyes strayed to the long surgical scar on his father's jaw. Under the table, Clark clenched his fist and looked away.
"Are you sure you guys didn't see anything else that day?" Clark asked. "Did anyone else see anything, or did anyone strange come to town."
His father shook his head. "Not that we know of."
As Clark thought, there was no new information to be pulled from there. Still, it was worth a shot.
"What's this about, honey?" his mother asked.
What should he tell them? It was a strange feeling, considering not telling his parents something.
He'd always been able to tell them everything. A few months ago, it wouldn't even have been in question.
Now though…
Clark saw two likely outcomes of him telling them.
In the first, they freak. They either tell him not to look for the woman in white, something he couldn't do, or they decide to move again, something they couldn't afford to do.
If that happened, Clark might never learn who this woman was, or if she had any connection to him, to his real origins.
The second possibility was that they'd try and help him look for this woman. But Clark still had no idea who he was looking for. All he did know was that this person was fast, and to be that fast, they needed to be pretty strong too.
If his parents found this person and she was dangerous…
Clark didn't even want to entertain the thought.
If I can find out who she is, find out if she really even has anything to do with me, then I'll tell them.
"It's nothing," Clark said, "I was just thinking about some stuff. You know, that book I was reading about alien visitations and such just got me reminiscing I guess."
They weren't totally sold, but they were willing to accept it.
"Well," his mother said, "finish breakfast. It's almost time for you to head to school."
He probably should, but so long as the day was ripe for more awkward conversations…
"So, dad," Clark began, "I found this place outside of town. It's not too far, couple of miles. It's this old hiking trail that winds up this mountain. It's mostly forest, and hardly anyone ever goes up there any more, supposedly."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah." Clark nodded, pushing his food around the plate. "I was thinking, maybe, it'd be a good place for me to go for a run…"
His father turned away and looked out the window. That wasn't very hopeful.
"Clark," his father began, "I'm not sure that's such a good idea. We just got here, and we can't really be sure what's safe."
"You have to let me go eventually. It's been months since my last time. I'm starting to feel it like never before." Clark looked down at the fork in his hand. "The other day I was in class writing out an equation on the blackboard and…"
My hands started to shake.
"Clark," his dad reached across the table and took Clark's hands in his own. They were rough and calloused from a lifetime of farmwork. "We'll try and figure something out, but for now, we really just need to lay low. As it is, we dodged a serious bullet back in Smallville. I don't think we'll be so lucky a second time."
Clark couldn't look him in the eye. "Yeah, sure."
His parents exchanged uneasy glances, but they didn't say anything. Something was different between the three of them recently.
Clark had known he was adopted for many years, but only in these past few months did he find himself sometimes feeling like he wasn't their son.
He'd read somewhere that it was just a teenage thing. Distancing yourself from your parents, trying to seek your independence.
He really hoped so.
Later, as he took his usual route to school, he heard the barking of a dog. There were quite a few different kinds of dog barks. If you had sensitive ears, like Clark's, you could learn to tell the differences.
This one seemed panicked.
Clark frowned as he walked. The barking was coming from a block away. California sun drenched the pavement as everyone made their morning commutes.
The awkward conversation had made Clark leave early. If he wanted to, he could detour a little to see what had this dog so worked up.
Sounds like none of your business.
But there was something about it that was giving Clark a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Each long, mournful bark made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Remember what happened last time you stuck your nose where it didn't belong? We had to leave home.
Clark kept walking, he tried to push the sound out of his head. He focused on anything else. He could hear the groan of plumbing as a man in a house he passed washed his dishes. The sound of three different news stations filtered out into the air. A dog was barking in warning-
Dammit.
Clark altered his trajectory ever so slightly, making his way toward that vexing sound.
I'll just pass by really quick. I'm sure nothing's wrong.
Clark stopped in front of a house painted a robin's egg blue. The dog was somewhere behind it, barking at the house. Clark stood and stared.
He stared at the paved walkway that led to the steps of the porch. He stared, unable to turn away, at a tiny smudge on the pavement. Something so miniscule that it would have gone totally unnoticed by human eyes.
Clark wasn't so lucky.
That dark red fleck, one of many tiny drops forming a trail that led back to the door or the house, was unmistakable.
Blood.
Just keep walking, he commanded himself.
Clark screwed his eyes shut. He took a long breath and held it. He counted to still the beating of his heart.
He narrowed his focus, seeking any sound from the house, but heard nothing.
Maybe I'm wrong, maybe it's not human blood but some animal's, he thought to himself.
Even if it is human blood, it's still not your problem, he told himself with finality.
I'll just turn around now, and leave.
Clark opened his eyes again and saw the sinister ruby droplets glaring back at him.
Crap.
The heavy curtains were drawn in the windows facing the street. Clark waited another minute before heading toward the house, double checking that he was unobserved. Clark walked up the steps to stand before the front door. He listened again. The house seemed empty. There wouldn't be anyone to answer a knock, probably.
Clark stared at the crack in the doorframe. The deadbolt was drawn back. Clark, having no fingerprints to worry about leaving behind, gingerly put his fingers around the doorknob and twisted.
Unlocked.
He opened the door quickly, stepped inside, and closed the door behind him.
He saw the trail, thicker now, leading from the door and further into the house.
Clark kept his breath shallow as he looked around. To his left was a staircase that led to the second floor, to his right the house opened up to the living room.
The blood led that way.
Clark quickly made his way through the living and dining rooms,following the trail, finding himself in the kitchen. He could feel blood pounding in his ears as he stood in front of the door to the basement. His fingers twitched as he reached out toward the knob of dull brass. It was cold to the touch.
Clark turned the knob and stared down into the darkness. But darkness meant very little to his inhuman eyes.
The body was there, waiting for him. An older man's corpse sprawling on the floor near the base of the stairs. An open wound in his chest. A pool of blood around him. His shirt stained red.
Clark stepped back, hand out, seeking the kitchen counter to steady himself as he gasped. The old iron smell of blood flooded in with that involuntary breath, so thick he could taste it swimming into the back of his throat where he proceeded to choke on it.
He felt his breakfast coming up. He clasped a hand over his mouth and willed his stomach to settle, feet already moving, propelling him. Back through the house. Up the stairs. Towards the bathroom.
He bent over the toilet.
DNA evidence!
Clark clapped both his hands over his mouth. He threw his head back. His throat spasmed in protest. His mouth filled with acidic bile, but he held it all in, swallowing it back down.
When he finally managed to stop gagging, Clark pushed himself along the bathroom tiles, sliding backwards until his back was to the wall where he leaned against it.
He could still smell the blood.
"Three point one four one five nine two six five three five nine…" he quickly recited to the ten-thousandth digit.
The shower stall had a sliding glass door with frosted windowpanes instead of curtains, illustrated with a pattern of falling leaves. Clark stared at them as he recited until he was calm, then he got up and took another breath.
Back in control.
He made his way to the bedroom and was fortunate enough to find a docked cordless on a nightstand next to a king sized bed.
Clark called emergency services and reported the body. He gave the woman a fake name, the address he remembered from some mail he'd seen out of the corner of his eye on the dining room table. He agreed to stay nearby for a statement, but he had no plans to do so.
There was a click and the long ring of the dial tone. Clark put the phone back on its dock and made his way back downstairs. He stood in front of the door, checking to make sure no one was watching, Clark stepped back out into the calm, bright, Sunnydale morning.
He felt like Orpheus out of the Underworld, just don't look back and you'll be fine.
Had he not been so shaken, he might not have missed the neighbor watching him from their second floor window.
