Chapter Ten

Clark knelt on the dusty, dry floor, his heart pounding. His x-ray vision penetrated the thick oak boards, seeing through the dark hole concealed underneath; he saw those circles pulsating with greenish light, then they were still.

And then…then they BLINKED at him.

Worse, they slowly moved, moved UP, it was moving towards HIM…

With a bloodcurdling scream Clark flung the lasso away from him, scrambling madly away. Diana lunged for Clark, dropping her end of the lasso and seizing him tightly in her arms as he thrashed wildly about on the floor. He was crying and desperately trying to get away from...from whatever he had seen, as if it were here in the room with them, but she wouldn't let him go. Diana held him in a grip of iron, repeating his name – his given name and his birth name - over and over, reassuring him that he was no longer in the Red House. Clark's trembling was like the thrumming of a giant power conductor, and it took all of Diana's strength to keep him still, from harming himself. His face was twisted in a paroxysm of fear, his eyes shut and his teeth chattering.

By all the gods! Diana thought, appalled beyond words. What evil has done this?

Instinctively, Diana began to hum verses of ancient Themysciran songs she knew, bits of American melodies she had picked up, rocking him in his arms as if he were a small child. This had the soothing effect she intended: slowly he began to relax, the steel-like rigidity gradually dissipating from his muscles, leaving his body limp and drained in her arms. Diana was exhausted from the effort, but she kept holding him. For a few frightening seconds she wondered if, instead of healing him, the truth-trance – and whatever he had seen – had broken his mind. What if he remained in this state…? She could not think of that.

"Diana?" Clark whispered. His eyelids quivered and he opened them carefully. He seemed to recover much more once he saw her face near to his. "Am I back…I mean, here?"

Relief flooded through Diana's body. "Yes, my love, yes you are," she caressed his face lovingly, held his head close to her heart, so he could hear its beating, its life. "You're in our home. The truth-trance, it is over."

Clark said nothing then but buried his face in her breast, his arms coming up and holding her. A long time passed before either of them moved, or spoke. Hours passed. The sandalwood aroma dissipated. Finally, daring herself to speak, Diana broke the silence.

"You do not remember anything else." It was more of a confirmation than a question.

"Only that…that sensation of being seen, being watched, by something. I don't…I can't think of what it was."

"It is still there, then. Whatever it was…it did not come after you?" Diana let Clark go as he carefully sat up on his own.

"I don't know," Clark buried his face in his hands. "I don't remember anything after that, or flying away. I don't even remember hitting the barn."

"You were unconscious when you fell to ground."

Clark said nothing.

"What shall you do?" Diana urged.

"What?" Clark lifted his head from his hands, stared at her.

"What shall you do, about the Red House?"

"I don't know," Clark spoke as if he didn't quite understand his answer, or recognize his own voice. "I just don't know."

Diana considered carefully. She knew her husband was no coward, nor was he a fool. She had, albeit not often, seen him fearful before, but then the fear was the wise and healthy caution of a fighter weighing the abilities of a dangerous opponent. This was something very different - this was blind and unreasoning terror. It seemed to unman him, and she herself was beginning to feel the tendrils of dread snaking up to engulf her heart. Whatever it was, it had the power of the fear of the unknown, a deadly and crippling fear. She had to fight that fear; she had to be strong for the both of them, until she could help him overcome this.

For the three of them.

"There's only a few more hours left tonight, Diana," Clark sighed. "I want to get some rest. You should too. We can decide what to do in the morning," Clark saw the look of misgiving in Diana's eyes, and he touched her cheek. "I promise. I won't…deny this anymore. But I…think we've already learned a lot for one night."

"Tomorrow, then," Diana said firmly. "We must make decision to do something about the evil that curses you and this village. You will not be free of it unless you do. But I will be by your side this time."

Clark hesitated, then acquiesced. "Yes, Diana," he kissed her. "I swear to you, this will be over," he reached out and gently laid his strong hand against her stomach. "This won't be hanging over us anymore…or our family. I promise you."

"I believe you, Clark." She kissed him back. She trusted him.

The next day.

The day dawned bright and cloudless and warm as usual, the same as the other late summer days in Smallville. They had had only a few hours rest, but in the past they had endured much less on behalf of the Justice League.

Clark had gone out to the barn to take care of the few animals the farm still possessed: a few chickens, geese and goats. When he returned, they would decide on a plan of action. Diana thought he seemed recovered from the trance, although quiet and distracted. She wondered if it had been wise to tell him of her pregnancy, next to everything else, but then she knew that it had to be done. It would have hurt him if she had kept it a secret, or if he had found out some other way.

While Clark was out, Diana took out her xiphos sword from its scabbard, hefted it, feeling that familiar weight in her arm and wrist. She regretted not having practiced regularly, but she had lost none of her skill or power here in Smallville, regardless of what Gorgo implied. She had not seen that obstinate old woman since the day of their confrontation; Diana imagined that Gorgo and her mother were having quite the discussion back in Themyscira. What they would make of her condition, Diana didn't want to think, but she had no doubt they would discover it eventually, and do their utmost to drag her back (in chains, if Diana knew her mother) to Themyscira. Well, that would be dealt with in the proper time – they wouldn't take her back so easily, like a wayward child!

Deep in thought, Diana practiced slow X-cuts in the air, walking around the house, then stepped outside – she was forgetting something but what? Suddenly she lowered her sword. Lana! Lana was going to call her this morning, she had told her. Just to make sure she was all right, and "all that." Diana re-sheathed the xiphos and tried to remember where she had left her cellphone. She had last used it…in the car, where it was plugged in the charger. She went to fetch it. She'd had better call Lana first, let her know that today was not a good day for them to meet up.

Clark came out of the barn, wiping his hands on a rag, which he stuck into his pocket. Diana was partly right – he was distracted, but only by the thought of impeding fatherhood. He found it difficult to think of anything else. He knew in his heart, despite whatever knowledge he could pry out of the crystals in the Fortress, he would be doing this without guidance from anyone, neither his father nor his biological father, Jor-El. It would just be him and Diana, alone together, just as they were…just as they were meant to be. He found that a welcome challenge, rather than daunting. Diana would agree with him, he was certain. She had said so herself, in rebuffing that Amazon snob.

Looking for Diana, he saw her standing by their car, the phone in her hand, and concern on her face. "Diana! What is it?"

"Two missed calls from Lana, this morning, an hour ago."

This early? That was unusual. "Did she leave a voicemail?" Clark asked.

Diana shook her head. "No, but there is a text." She showed him the screen.

Diana, call me as soon as you get this. Need to talk, right away. About RH.

Clark frowned. "Nothing else?"

"No. This is not like Lana, I think, she would not have called so early, at 6:00 in the morning," Diana looked at him. "Lana confided in me about the Red House, and then this. She must have some other information she desires to share."

"I have a bad feeling about this," Clark said slowly. "I'm sure Lana doesn't know anything…I mean, the same as what I know…but Will, I'm not so sure."

Diana's eyes narrowed. "You think he is hiding something?"

Clark was troubled. "He never spoke of that night when we were at his party; when he mentioned renovating the Red House he never spoke of it."

"A trauma of the past, something like that can hardly be spoke of at a party," Diana suggested. "Perhaps he has forgotten it, repressed it just as you did. He was only a human boy."

It occurred to Clark that as a child he had thought of Will as the bigger and more dominant kid, although Will was only a few months older than him, by Earth standards. Will had always been domineering and self-assured, and smart - he was still that way. Clark had always been a little overawed, even fearful of him then, despite his alien powers.

"Maybe. But we need to know more, before we rush into this. There's someone else I need to ask."

"Who?"

"Old Ed Johnson," Clark tilted his head towards the road. "I'm sure he was there with my father that night. They were close friends. He knows something, I'm positive."

"He is an old man. His mind wanders. He may not know anything anymore."

"Still, I need to ask him," Clark insisted. "I'll head there now."

"Might the Lasso help?"

Clark shook his head ruefully. "No, I think it would kill him! I won't press him, if he is really too far gone. Besides, it would be good to check up on him anyway, since he lives alone."

Diana nodded in agreement. "Then I will go see Lana while you attend to him, and see what other light she may shed on this darkness."

He placed his hands on her shoulders, and he bent close to her, looking deeply into her eyes. "Be careful, my love. Let's meet back here, when we're done, eh?"

Diana felt the darkness push back from her heart, become filled with hope again. She saw her husband, Clark – Superman – again in her eyes, and she saw him also in his new guise - that of a strong father. She knew he would be strong for her - and their child. She grasped his hand.

"I agree. Back here, and then we will fight!"

As he pulled up to the Johnson farmstead, he saw that the old man's rickety Ford truck was parked in front of the house, so he was home, or maybe in his barn. Even at ninety-some odd years, he would still not stop working. It was the Smallville work ethic. Clark parked next to it and sat there for a moment, thinking. The old farmer had certainly known something about the Red House, but especially he was knew that it was dangerous.

You should know Clark!

He had known that Clark had gone that night to the house. Perhaps he had been on the search team for the missing boy. Clark needed to find out what else the old man knew, despite his senility, he only hoped the old man was able to remember. His powers didn't extend to reversing Alzheimer's, unfortunately.

Clark got out of the car and walked up to the porch. The house resembled the Kents' farmhouse, but much more worn-down and badly kept - Johnson clearly also hadn't been able to keep up with the maintenance and repairs. He would need to help him with the repairs someday, Clark thought. There was no doorbell, so he rapped on the door.

"Mr. Johnson?" he called out. "Ed?"

No response, but something felt wrong. He could hear nothing, no movement He used his vision and what he saw made him bust through the flimsy front door, and rush inside. Johnson was laying inside on the floor of his cluttered living room, face-down, his cane on the floor next to him.

"Ed!"

Clark rushed to his side and checked for a pulse. It was faint but still there. "Ed, can you hear me?"

The old man's eyelids fluttered, and he opened his rheumy eyes a crack. "Clark?" his voice was raspy, barely audible. "That you, boy?"

"Yes, yes it's me. Hold on, I'll get you to a hospital."

"No…time, I think…too late…fell down…mebbe yesterday…."

The old man was weak and dehydrated. He must have fallen, been unable to move and call for help. He was critical and needed to get to the hospital immediately – there might not be time for the ambulance, or even to call 911. One of the hardships of living in a rural area.

As carefully as he could, Clark picked up the old man in his arms and ran outside, looking around quickly. He would be taking a risk but it wouldn't be the first time…

"Put me down, boy," Johnson rasped. "I…ain't never been flying, an' I'm too old to start now."

Clark stared at the old man, astonished.

The old man chuckled weakly. "You think I didn't know, boy? There be…a few of us old timers…nobody's business, outside…the taown…yer pa…so proud…"

Clark felt he could barely speak. "I'll take you to the hospital in the car, then. Hang on, Ed!"

"No time, I said," Ed's trembling hand reached up, tried to clutch Clark's collar. "I knowed why you come here, boy…that damned place…I knew it…yer pa too…"

Clark paled. "What…what was it? I remember going there now, but I don't know what was there…Ed, what was in the house?"

Ed Johnson's eyes were growing dim, and he seemed to be struggling to get out what he wanted to say, as if it was choking him. "It's…abomination…what's in there…not meant to be seen…by anyone…cursed people, out-of-taowners…brought it here…called it up…don know how…it...the dark…that three-lobed eye..."

Johnson's voice drifted into incoherent mumbles, which barely sounded English.

Clark couldn't wait any longer. He rushed out of the house, to his car. "I'm getting you to the hospital now, Ed, hang on!"

"Too late…Ima ready…dear dear Betty…" Ed coughed as Clark placed him carefully in the car.

Clark slid into the driver's seat. "Ed, I promise you…I'm going to do something about it!"

This brought on another violent reaction from the old man. He sputtered, coughed up runny brownish-yellow phlegm. "No!" the old man cursed. "I dun told you boy…I knowed yer pa did...wanted to keep you safe, boy…I'da promised yer pa ta keep yer secret…cursed abomination I tell ya!...no good, it's…damned thing…"

The elderly man coughed, started mumbling again, drifting again into incoherence. Clark gunned the engine and raced towards Smallville General, not hearing anything, not allowing himself to think.

Diana Kent pulled up to the Richardsons' house in her small car, parked on the other side of the street. The neighborhood was markedly quiet, everyone who lived in the identical suburban houses either out at work or at school. It gave the place a look of desertion, which she didn't like. Perhaps it was because all these houses looked the same, despite the homey touches some of the residents gave their lawns.

She had tried calling Lana several times, but only the voicemail picked up. She had texted her too, but also there was no response. Now, arriving at her house, she saw that both her car and Will's car were there. If they were both home, why had neither picked up? Unless the phone was switched off, or where they couldn't hear it. Now she was at the door, and ringing the bell, but still, no answer.

Again, Diana felt that uneasiness, her sense of danger rising, but perhaps the weeks and months of quietude had made her uncertain. Concern for Lana, her friend, prompted her to go on. If she had to, she would break through a door or the wall itself to get inside. But she soon realized it was unnecessary. She tried the door, and she found herself unsurprised to learn it was unlocked.

She stepped inside; she had no hesitation, at all, part of the "directness" Lana had appreciated in her, especially when she thought something needed to be done. Her piercing gaze swept the interior. It looked the same as the last time she was here, the night of the party: the same things, nothing unusual. "Lana?" she called out. "It's Diana. Are you here?"

No response. It was very quiet, except for the ticking of the antique grandfather clock in the living room. Diana's hearing was extremely acute, and she could hear nothing else, but she still could not be sure. She glanced up at the stairs leading to the second floor. She didn't recall being up there, where the bedrooms and Will's study were. "Lana?"

Cautiously, she ascended the stairs. Up on the second floor, all the doors were shut, except for the guest bathroom, and the study, which were left wide open. No one.

"Lana? Will…?"

She entered the study; it looked like any college professor's. Bookcases lined the walls, every inch crammed with books. Tables and cabinets were piled with notebooks and papers stacked on top of more papers. Will's credenza at the far end was likewise top-heavy with folders and books. Scattered amidst all these tomes were similar antiques like the ones in the living room that reflected Will's interest in the Middle East.

Diana looked away in disappointment. Perhaps Lana and Will were with someone else, left for some other appointment. She should get back to the house, surely Clark would be done speaking to the old man by now. Yet something kept her here. Clark had said Will was renovating the Red House, and Lana had said he was its custodian or owner. Perhaps there may be something here after all, if she took a look around.

Diana looked at the papers on the desk. Student papers to the right, journal articles on the left. The title of the one on top was, Monograph of The Institute of Midwestern Anthropology, Vol. XXII: Legends of Yig Among the Kiowa and Arapaho of Central Kansas. Author: Dr. Phineas Potter.

She turned it over, saw more papers with similar titles. One manila folder bore the name of Potter. Something about that name triggered something in Diana's memory but she couldn't quite place it. She opened it, looked inside. It contained handwritten letters, presumably from this Dr. Potter, addressed to Will.

The first one:

Will,

I've sent you the materials you requested. It is not much, but hopefully even the most paltry materials can reveal a wealth of details, if one knows how to look. Once again I urge you to take extreme caution in your studies. Your current research interest is commendable – not many people have an appreciation of pre-Islamic Arabia! – but the direction requires a considerable preparation in order not to fall into certain errors of judgement regarding...

Half the page was missing, or torn off. The second page seemed to be a different letter, dated later:

Will,

My boy, I must express my deepest concern at your proposal. The Church of Starry Wisdom closed its doors in 1928, and its congregants dispersed to places unknown. I have done my best to attempt to track down the members of this so-called house of worship, but have met with minimal success. However, I did manage to locate a single member, a man by the name of Blake, whose last and final address was a flophouse in San Francisco 40 years later. When I attempted to inquire as to the current whereabouts of this man, I discovered – to my considerable discomfort - that the man had died an extremely nasty death there several years ago, and that none of the residents of this charming establishment would speak an iota as to the circumstances of his demise. I believe that we may never learn anything more of this Church, save that its roots were back East, and that the object of worship on its altar was something called the "Shining Trapezohedron," or perhaps, that this article enabled them to commune with the actual object of their worship, which continues also to remain unknown (I have my theories but I will not commit them to pen and paper). This Shining Trapezohedron was believed by this cult to have certain properties, that by gazing into it, it also gave them visions and enabled them to speak in a secret language…

The rest of this letter was also missing. Diana was mystified. What was this?

Another letter, the last one, in the folder:

Will,

I urge you to cease and desist whatever it is you are doing, at once! I do not know what your true intention is, but I shudder to think of it. That thing, that abomination in the Red House must never get out. The consequences if it does so are unimaginable. Those deviants of the Church of Starry Wisdom called it up, but like its ORIGINAL creators, they could never fully control it, so they sealed it up beneath the Red House, underneath the rock that bore the sign. Perhaps as a kind of perverse joke, if you like, or perhaps they intended it as a kind of booby trap, for the unwary to come across. It almost caught you, do you not remember? Those other poor boys that were with you, the Wilder boy, he never recovered, and he is a a mindless mute to this day, living in an institution, the wretched boy, and the Dodds child was never found, undoubtedly consumed in a way I dare not to think. Only you and the Kent boy survived. By some grace you were both spared - will you not see this as a sign that you are meant to do great things? Better things? But not to indulge in these mad ideas! I regret now that I ever introduced you to this, I had truly hoped you would have followed my footsteps. Perhaps my colleagues on the East Coast were wise to burn the books and notes and wipe this knowledge from the face of the earth. For Lana's sake, I beg of you, turn away from-

The letter ended there, the rest of the page also ripped away. Reading it had chilled Diana in a way she had never felt before. She tossed it down, on the desk. She had to rush back and tell Clark. Then she heard a noise behind her, and whirled around.

Will Richardson was standing behind her, his blonde hair neatly combed from his forehead, his face composed, looking neither surprised, nor offended that she was in his study snooping around. Diana wondered how he could have come behind her so silently, without her hearing...?

"Diana," Will said mildly. "So pleasant to see you again. Have you decided to take me up on my offer?"

"Where's Lana, Will?" Diana demanded. "I came to see her."

"Oh, Lana's fine…but I hoped you'd come to talk about something else," Will slowly walked around Diana, moving to his desk. She watched him closely, like a cat. "Did you find this interesting?"

"What do you mean?"

Will took the folder from his desk, tapped it very lightly. "The Red House, I mean. Are you interested in visiting it?"

Diana clenched her hands, stepped closer to him. She felt, no she knew, that he knew everything. Everything that had happened, before and since. Clark was right to think he was hiding something, but what?

"Why do you think I would be?"

"I don't know," Will looked up at her, and now there was no doubt at all that was definitely leering at her. "A private place to visit, there's much to see…and to do…if you know how to look, a wealth of details, " Suddenly he reached over and grasped hold of her wrist, surprising and infuriating her with his speed and presumption.

Diana flung Will's offending hand away and snatched him by the collar, yanking him halfway across the desk.

"Dare not touch me again! Tell me where Lana is or I shall…"

She was prepared to essentially stomp him until he revealed what had happened to Lana, but then she felt something quite strange happen. A numbness was radiating through her body, as if every muscle and nerve was being told to freeze in place. She didn't understand, at first, what had happened.

Then she looked down, where Will's left fist pressed against her waist. Then she saw the dagger his fist held, its blade had penetrated up and above the right hipbone. If she had been wearing her corselet, but even so…how could it have?…Dark crimson was seeping through her jeans and shirt.

Astounded, disbelieving, Diana looked up at Will. His face was calm, composed, he had the air of a teacher was used to reprimanding a problem student, and that this was just another somewhat distasteful task in his daily routine. He also looked like he had planned this, instigating her to make the first move, then sweeping up the dagger from his desk and striking her with it, all in one smooth motion, like an expert. But he was only a teacher...or was he something else...?

"Women have a way of complicating things," Will said pedantically. "Things that don't necessarily have to be so complicated. It's all very simple."

Diana pulled away, at the same time Will tried to push the knife inwards, but the blade (stone? obsidian?) broke off from the hilt of the ancient (magicked?) weapon. But she didn't, couldn't, waste time to think about that. She had to get away.

My baby.

Diana tried to retreat away from the study, but felt her legs go weak, and she stumbled and fell in the doorway, just as Will came from around his desk. She opened her mouth to cry out, Clark, she wanted to scream, but just then Will kicked her sharply, on her wound, and she gasped in pain and shock instead. This man was strong! Too strong for…how?

"No histrionics, please," Will picked up the scattered papers on the floor as Diana writhed in pain on the ground. "I've already had enough for one day. And you've caused me to break a very ancient blade, very curious find I picked up in Yemen. Anyway, as I said, it's all very simple. The Great Old Ones return, and then everyone else goes…well almost everyone…but even then-" He looked at Diana, raised an eyebrow. "You must think I'm mad."

Diana shot him a look that gave him the answer; she had managed to pull herself to her knees, and was still trying to get out into the hallway, blood dripping onto the carpet from her wound.

"Amazing stamina," Will remarked. "I thought you'd be dead. Clark certainly found a unique one in you."

She looked as if she was about to cry out something; he took two strides toward her; instantly she kicked out, gasping in pain as she did so, but caught him a glancing blow on the shin. He snarled angrily in pain and grabbed her dark hair, yanking her head up. Diana cried out, tried to bite his forearm, but Will grabbed her by the throat and shoved her brutally against the doorjamb. Diana's eyes stared murder at Will but he only grinned again, revealing his teeth, his pronounced incisors.

"What is it do you think you are doing? What can anyone do?" Will shouted at her. "You're useless, all of it is useless! All this nonsense, schools and governments and business, let it all be swept away I say! Nothing but a waste of time. Nothing but a bunch of simpering, puling babies, we've become, having to be protected by so-called 'superheros,''" Will laughed, a mad sound. Diana struggled, but Will struck her again, and then again. She collapsed on the floor, bleeding, gasping in agony. "If sheeple have to resort to this, well, it's about time someone else had a go. Someone who was here before, and will come again. This was their world, to begin with, anyway. We're just here crapping on it, fucking it all up. But they will come again. Iä! Yes, they will come again, and soon! In fact," Will bent down to her, grinning knowingly. "They are already here."

"You..are…mad," Diana's choked voice was barely audible. Instinctively she had curled up, guarding her stomach. Her eyes stared up at him, with loathing. "I…will…kill…you..for what…you've done…"

"No chance of that, I'm afraid," Will reached down and grabbed her by her throat, pulling her up brutally. "Come. It's time to go feed the shoggoth."

[Thanks for all the reviews! I'm really happy you all are enjoying reading this, just as much as I am enjoying writing it :) Many, many revelations in this chapter! You should be able to guess what it is our couple are facing now! It's going to be a wacky fight, if I can figure out how to write it! I'm a visual writer so my idea for Will is Michael Fassbender, who was very creepy - and blonde! - in Prometheus, which I did like, although he may look a little too European. Someone one the Hell Yeah Superman & Wonder Woman web site suggested Charlize Theron to play WW, which would be great, I think! Just needs a black wig ;) And she was in Prometheus also, so it works XD. Again, many thanks for the review, please keep 'em coming, I do read and respond to them, if I can!]