The Human Touch

"The screen door slams
Mary's dress waves
Like a vision she dances across the porch
As the radio plays
Roy Orbison singing for the lonely
Hey that's me and I want you only
Don't turn me home again
I just can't face myself alone again"

Phuket, Thailand

Clark woke from the dream bathed in sweat. He looked wildly around, not sure for a moment were he was. Slowly the white plaster walls came into focus. He was in the hotel. The rest came rushing back and the emptiness returned.

He'd been having the same dream for a week. Clark didn't even remember where he last heard Springsteen's Thunder Road, but somehow the imagery seemed to get jumbled up in his dream. As he sat on the side of the bed, his elbows on his knees he could still remember fleeting images. It had to be morning, but he wasn't sure where it was. He heard the sound of a screen door and turned to see a house shimmering in the sunlight. From somewhere the old radio was playing.

There was a woman wearing a gingham dress standing on the top step. She looked lovely, but most of her face was in the shadows. Only her smile was clear to him. Something about her started an overwhelming need within him. He wanted to touch her just to make sure she was real, yet he was afraid she was just another illusion. One step and then another and he was moving closer. A soft breeze brushed against the material of her dress and her slender hands absently smoothed away the wrinkles. He was running now, desperate to reach her. He was almost to the porch and then something caught his foot. He stumbled and fell. As he looked back to see what he'd fallen over, he saw it was a shovel. No, he cried, not like this.

When he looks up the scene has transformed and he's in front of his old house in the suburbs watching it burn. It was at that point he always woke up. Clark ran his hands through his damp hair and wondered if he was finally going mad. He sat there on the side of the bed as the dream drifted away from him, the images fading fast. It was gone and the emptiness came rushing back. Like a zombie, he got off the bed and went to take a shower. It was the beginning of another day.

Twenty minutes later he was dressed and walking out of his hotel. The tropical sun beats down and the humidity was stifling. He was restless and kept moving. He needed a drink but skipped the usual places. He'd been to them too often lately and now the bartenders and regulars felt as if they knew him. They would want to talk. He wasn't in the mood to talk. He wanted to be anonymous and drink alone.

He avoided the popular spots, knowing tourists would be there. They would want to talk too. He already knew the questions.

"So you're an American? Where you from? Business or Pleasure? What brings you to this neck of the wood? What line of work are you in?"

It was usually just a pretext to tell their story. Someone's life, work, family, where he or she was from and all the rest would follow. He couldn't do that anymore. The urge to see her at Le Chabanais was there, but he resisted it. It was as if he were punishing himself, waiting until the need got too great and he couldn't resist any longer.

He felt a rush go through his body at the thought. It was sweet torture, but it helped keep the emptiness at bay for just a little while longer. He continued walking. Clark ignored the looks he seemed to always get. He was a big man and stood out where ever he went, but especially here. He didn't make eye contact, just kept his head down and continued on.

The Togo Island Bar was just off the beach and had seen better days. The huge, modern hotels had moved in and the crowds flocked there now. As Clark stepped over the threshold, he felt the ceilings fans circulating the air. The bar was dark and empty, perfect. He ordered a drink, paid and walked to a table on the patio. He sat down and looked out over the water.

"You always drink alone."

Clark turned to see Julian Grinka standing next to him. The older Frenchman was dressed all in white as always. He was carrying one of the cheap bamboo fans they sell to tourists. He smiled at Clark and sat down without being asked. He took off his hat and dropped it on the table. He slowly began to fan himself.

"We haven't seen you in quite awhile,' the owner of le Chabanais said. 'Suzette misses you."

"I've been busy."

"If you say so." Julian smiled and then motioned to the lone waiter. Clark said nothing. The waiter brought a bottle of Absinthe, a pitcher of ice water and two glasses. He set them down and quietly disappeared.

"Have a drink with me," Julian said, pouring two glasses of the pale green liquor. "We will talk and drink the two of us."

"I don't feel like talking,' Clark replied.

"Then I will talk and we will drink."

Clark could see he wasn't going to get rid of him, so he finished his own drink and set the glass aside. He watched as Julian poured just a bit of ice water into the two glasses, turning the liquid slightly cloudy. He pushed one of the glasses towards Clark.

"Absinthe?"

"It reminds me of my youth,' Julian offered.

"I supposed to refuse it to refuse life,' Clark sarcastically said, eyeing the mixture.

"No, that's champagne."

Julian took a sip and sat back smiling, as if it reminds him off some far of world. Clark idly swirled the mixture around in the glass. Grinka watched Clark weighting how to proceed. He could plainly see the sadness in Clark. It was one of Julian's specialties. He's been making a living off sad people for most of his life. Drugs, prostitutes, there were a million ways to do it. It took no real skill, as customers for those products were a dime a dozen. What was rare was Clark. Julian had spotted it the first night he walked in. A broken good man was not something you run across everyday. Other, more exotic ways of making money were a possibility with a good broken man.

"I prefer to buy you a drink here. You are not good for my bar's business,' Julian observed as Clark took his first taste of the absinthe. Clark made a face, as the absinthe had an anise taste, almost like black liquorice. It wasn't bad, he thought.

"Why am I bad for your business?"

"You make the girls sad,' Julian replied. "No one likes a sad whore."

Julian smiled as he saw him wince at the word. Clark took another drink of the absinthe and then looked at Julian.

"Are you trying to tell me not to come back?'

"No, of course not, your business is always welcome,' Julian replied, waving it off with his fan. "It was just an observation, that's all."

"If you're trying to embarrass me, don't bother,' Clark said. "I know what she is. It's a brothel, I get it."

Julian just continued to smile. He had been trying to embarrass Clark, to prod him for a reaction. He got one.

"If you are going to be offended, we won't have much of a conversation," Julian offered.

"There are worse things." Clark said this off hand, taking another drink of the absinthe.

"Yes and I'm sure you've seen more than your share,' Julian replied. Clark's eyes instantly looked at him, but he didn't say a word.

"Oh, don't seem so surprised,' Julian continued. "It's my business to know people and I've been watching you since that first night."

"Yes, I know."

It was Julian's turn to be surprised.

"You knew and yet you said nothing? It doesn't bother you?"

"I'm sort of used to people looking at me," Clark replied. He finished his glass and set it down. Before he could get up and leave, Julian had filled it again. He raised his glass to Clark as if in a toast and finished it, then poured himself another. They sat silently for several minutes.

"Suzette is most beautiful,' Julian finally said, breaking the silence.

"Yes, she is."

"My best girl, but I take a great risk letting her be with you."

"How so,' Clark asked.

"You are the type of man a woman falls for,' Julian explained. "Even a whore."

"I think you're overestimating me,' Clark replied, dismissing the notion.

"Perhaps, but I think not,' Julian countered. "You are a good man. I am not, but I can always spot one. Yes, you are a good man with a dark past. You are haunted, damaged and this is almost irresistible. They want to fix you, share your pain, and make it better. Tall, dark and handsome, yet damaged, that is a combination that can lead to disaster for someone in my line of work."

Clark set his glass down and leaned his elbows on the table. He looked Julian in the eye.

"Then why risk it? If you're so sure about me, why not just ban me from coming back?" Clark asked.

"Because I'm a gambler,' Julian replied. "While you are a good man and I'm a bad man, underneath we are not that different."

"I doubt that."

"Yes, I imagine you would,' Julian conceded. "But I too have known the emptiness of living, as I think you have. To know the sheer mind numbingness of ordinary everyday life is our curse. One day just like the next stretching out endlessly before us. It is the source of our shared ennui. "

Clark didn't say anything, but he was a little rattled. The Frenchman had just hit a little too close for comfort. He took another drink before replying.

"You seemed to be surviving."

"True, but then I am a bad man, remember?"

"How could I forget?"

The tone in Clark's voice was sarcastic to say the least. Julian wasn't offended. He was working towards something and wouldn't be put off that easily.

"Suzette makes it go away, doesn't she?"

"Yes,' Clark replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

"That's what makes her special,' Julian replied. "She reminds you of what life can feel like, what it should feel like, even if it is only for a fleeting moment."

Clark wasn't sure what to say. Julian had just described the very reason he couldn't stay away from her. To feel alive again, to connect with another human being was like a drug to his system. He craved it, yet hated that he did.

"So I guess you'll be getting more of my money,' Clark whispered and then downed the rest of his glass. Julian's smile got cold; as this was the moment he was waiting for.

"Perhaps, perhaps not,' he replied. "What if there was another way to have that feeling of being alive? I know it wouldn't matter to you, but there might be money in it as well. Enough money so you wouldn't have to pay in the future."

Clark looked at him for a moment. He'd known since the moment he sat down that Julian wanted something. Now he was about to find out what. He had to admit, he was interested, intrigued even by what he was suggesting. Finally Clark reached for the bottle and poured them both another drink.

"You talk, I'll drink."


Washington

Diana and the entire staff of the Embassy slowly walked up the front steps. They were all in black, as they had just come from a funeral. One of their own had taken her life. Diana knew she was a troubled young woman, but wanted to help so she hired her. The staff took an instant liking to the girl, especially the Amazons that helped run the place. The news of her death hit all of them hard, but in particular Diana.

She had kept track of the young woman, making sure she had access to all best medical help she could. Diana personally made the effort to talk to her, keep up on how she was doing. Everything seemed fine the last time they talked. Now she was dead.

As the staff started back towards their work areas, Diana stopped all of them in the main lobby. She told them all to take the rest of the day off and go home. Some protested, but no one's heart was really in it. Diana's assistants offered to stay and help her, but she just smiled sadly and told them to go.

A half hour later, Diana was alone in the Embassy. She walked around, checking every room and locked up for the night. She would let the service handle all the calls; there would be time for all that tomorrow. When she was finished, she walked back to her office and sat down behind her desk. Proposals, invitations, outlines of projects and a million other things were neatly arranged on the top, but as Diana sat there she found herself thinking of the last time she had spoken to the young woman.

They had discussed how she was doing and she seemed calm, almost as if she'd come to some decision. She sat relaxed, talking about the future, yet now as Diana thought back on it there were never any specifics. Later that night that sad, sweet young woman had gone home, filled the tub with water and slit her wrists. A neighbor called the police the next day.

Diana spoke to all the counselors and experts and they all said the same thing. Don't blame yourself. Diana thanked them, but how could she not? The young woman must have given some signs, but Diana missed them. Yes, so did the experts, but that was little comfort. Tears rolled down Diana's cheeks as she mourned the young woman. She couldn't save her. She was Wonder Woman and helped save lives everyday, but she couldn't save one troubled young woman she cared about.

Tom was out of town, but it probably didn't matter. He wouldn't understand. It was the same reason she wanted to help Kal. If she couldn't help those close to her then what did it all mean? Was she just a warrior after all this time and that was it? Was it just as Kal had said, all a game? She could fight villains and Gods, but there had to be more. 13 years had passed and there had to be more. Compassion, love, empathy, nurturing and caring, these were all supposed to be gifts she received from her Gods, yet she barely used them any more. A young woman was dead and she hadn't been able to reach her.

Wiping her eyes, Diana felt as if she were at a crossroads. There had to be more to life than just battle.

Lately she'd taken more mission of a humanitarian nature with the League. It reminded her of when she first arrived in the world. Fighting global threat from aliens races and super villains still had its place, but after 13 years some of the luster was gone. She saw it in the eyes of the newest members of the League, that excitement and newness of it all. They were just like she had been, wanting to change the world.

Experience and life had finally brought home a lesson she'd always known. Hearts not fists would change the world. Let the new, younger members face the challenges now, she thought. She would always be there to assist, but her focus would be on a quieter battle. While it wasn't part of her beliefs, Diana understood the concept of karma. What you put out into the world comes back at you ten fold.

She had not been able to save the young woman, but perhaps she could help save someone else. If she could help one person, then perhaps it was the start of something. A long future stretched out in front of her and it had to have meaning beyond just battle. Otherwise it wasn't a life worth living.


Phuket, Thailand

The hall officially had no name, but the locals called it Blood Alley. The officials turned a blind eye to what went on inside, for a price. Fights of all kinds took place in the hall, dog, rooster and the most profitable, men. It wasn't boxing or MMA, it was much more basic and brutal then either. Two men entered the ring and didn't leave until one couldn't. Five minute rounds were broken by thirty second breaks for water or what little damage control could be done. There were no tap outs or TKOs, just knockouts, any way the fighter could manage it.

The hall probably seated two thousand, but nearly double that number crammed their way inside. The building was sweltering, the smell of humanity mixed with stale beer, sweat and sawdust. Money was everywhere. You could bet on anything, which would win, how long it would take, even whether someone would die. The crowd was deafening as the next match was announced. In one corner was a young Philipino named Chong Di. He was barely five six and a hundred and thirty pounds, but it was all raw, sinewy muscle. It wasn't his first fight and he had a reputation for brutal matches. The crowd loved him.

In the other corner was Clark. This was a mistake, he thought as he looked around at the ravenous crowd. Julian's words had tantalized him into this. When he heard himself being introduced as Pale Horse, he cringed. That damn nickname had followed him here. It was a mistake, he told himself, but even as he thought this, his heart was pumping, his nerves were on edge and adrenaline was coursing through his system. His body was on tense and keyed up.

From all physical appearances, the fight seemed like a mismatch. Clark looked huge, massive in size compared to the other man. There were no weight classes here, just two men. Clark glanced at the front row and saw Julian sitting dead center. Next to him was Suzette. She smiled and waved, clapping her hands in encouragement. He felt ridiculous and was just about to call the whole thing off and climb out of the ring when the bell rang.

Chong Di was on him immediately. He kicked savagely at Clark's knee. It buckled and he fell against the ropes. A normal man leg's would have had all the ligaments torn from the blow. Clark had lost his powers, but his body was still Kryptonian. That meant he could take an astonishing amount of punishment. He learned this lesson well in the first five rounds. He basically had his ass handed to him by the smaller man.

As the bell sounded for the sixth round, Clark was bruised, bloody and a bit disoriented. The noise was deafening. The crowd screamed for the little man to finish him. Clark moved cautiously away from the corner, feeling clumsy and awkward as the little man moved constantly. He was lightening fast, striking hard and then moving away, again and again.

It had been a long time since Clark had even sparred with anyone, never mind an actual fight. He realized Chong Di wasn't just trying to beat him; he was trying to destroy him in the process. Savage kicks continued to rain at his knee, sending agony through his system. A flying, spinning kick just missed Clark's chin or it would have taken his head off. Vicious kidney punches made him groan in pain, but he didn't fall. Money passed back and forth in the crowd, the frenzy of betting getting more intense as the fight continued.

The world seemed to slip away for Clark and only the man in front of him remained. He watched every move, every attack. He managed to block a few, but most got through. He tried jabbing, but the little man was too quick. Clark's punches were too slow and too long. This made him an easy target for a counterpunch. A kick to the back of the head sent him falling into the ropes. As he struggled to stay on his feet, more kicks and punches came, each one hard and brutal. Finally the bell rang and Clark barely managed to make it back to his corner. Gasping for air, he closed his eyes as water was splashed in his face. Whether if was to clear the blood away or just to wake him up, he didn't know.

This couldn't go on he thought. Through blurry eyes he watched his opponent dancing in opposite corner, smiling and laughing with his helpers. He thinks he's already won, Clark thought. He's overconfident. One mistake, one opening, that's all I need. The bell rang and Chong Di came rushing across the ring to finish him. This time Clark didn't move out to meet him. He just waited. The little man feinted a punch and then leaped in the air for a kick. There it was, Clark thought, his opening.

His right hand shot out with all the force he could put behind it. He caught Chong Di in midair, flush on the jaw. The little man's momentum took him right into it. His head snapped to the side and he dropped the mat. He didn't get up. The fight was over.

As the crowd went wild, Clark gingerly bent down and checked on his opponent. He was breathing and relief washed over Clark that he hadn't killed him. He felt hands on his shoulders and as he got back to his feet, Julian was shouting something at him. Suzette leapt into his arms and kissed him. As he savored it, he finally heard Julian shouting into his ear.

"How do you feel?'

When he finally broke the kiss, Clark answered honestly.

"Alive."

The ring filled with people as a chant went up. Louder and louder it got until the whole place was shaking.

"HORSE! HORSE! HORSE! HORSE! HORSE!"