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Chloe woke, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Nixon had left them alone for a full night - just as he had promised. Clark slept quietly beside her, his breathing peaceful. She brushed a stray strand of dark hair from his face, pausing momentarily to study his countenance. He definitely looked better. The food and water Nixon had provided hadn't been much, but some of his color had returned and his eyes didn't appear to be as sunken in as before.

She sat up and stretched. He didn't wake. Not even when the door to their cell opened and Nixon stepped inside.

"All right, young lady, it's time," he said.

Chloe stood, locking eyes with him. "No. Not now. He's not ready."

"He's ready when I say he's ready," the scientist replied gruffly.

Chloe could only watch as the older man ripped Clark from the floor. Barely conscious, Clark was dead weight in his arms. The scientist struggled for a moment, hefting the young man's arm over his shoulder before turning his back on her.

"You can't do this," she insisted, her words both heated and loud. "Don't you see it's killing him?"

Nixon ignored her, dragging Clark toward the door.

"No!" she said louder. This time she grabbed onto the scientist's arm. "Listen, I don't know what that last experiment of yours was but he lost a lot of blood and now he's…"

Nixon jerked his arm away from her grasp, clearly annoyed and cutting her off.

Chloe, however, wasn't about to give up. "He's not even conscious," she protested.

"I don't need him to be conscious," Nixon answered.

"Then let me come with you."

"No."

Chloe pursed her lips. She'd been fighting with Nixon ever since she'd come here. Her arguments were getting her nowhere. It was time to switch tactics, maybe try speaking his language. If he didn't understand the value of human life he certainly wouldn't understand her need to be with Clark, no matter what. Perhaps if she approached it in a way that Nixon couldn't argue with…

"You want me to care for your lab rat?" she challenged, "Then I've got to know what I'm caring for! You can't just dump him back in here after you're done and expect me to know how to help him. He'll die before you can even plan your next move."

Her words reflected a cruelty that turned her insides. Nixon however, paused in mid-step, considering. "Fine," he nodded. He reached into his pocket, pulling out what Chloe recognized to be the remote that activated the bracelet on Clark's wrist. "You can come but," he added somberly, "If you try anything funny, I have no problem pushing this little black button here."

He paused, allowing the threat to register in the girl's mind before turning his back on her. "Follow me."

It had worked. Chloe breathed a sigh of relief, only for the momentary victory to be replaced by dread. What was next? What new torture had the madman dreamed up?

They didn't go far. Down at the very end of the hall were two doors that stood side by side. Nixon paused in front of them. "Go in that one," he barked, motioning to the door on the right.

Reluctantly, she entered.

The room was small and sparse with little more in the space than a computer, desk, and a single chair. A large, plated glass window stretched across the entirety of the right side. An observation room, she realized.

On the other side of the window was a frighteningly familiar room. Oh my god! Chloe thought, suddenly very aware of why she recognized the room. It was the room she'd seen in the video sent to Lex; that first, horrible experiment she'd witnessed along with Lex, Lana, Pete, and the Kents at the Luthor mansion, back when they first realized the extent of the danger Clark was in.

How long ago had that been? She had no idea.

Nixon entered into the room behind the window and dropped Clark's body on the floor.

She swallowed, suddenly not very sure she could watch this.

Nixon locked the door behind him and entered into the observation room without a word. He completely ignored Chloe and immediately went to work at the computer and keyboard.

On the other side of the window, a small door slid open that had previously been hidden in the wall, revealing a chunk of – what? From this distance, Chloe couldn't see.

Whatever it was had an immediate effect.

Clark's chest heaved and he woke with a violent gasp. Both hands went to his chest and he began coughing. Choking, his lungs strained to contract air, his breathing somehow restrained.

Horrified, Chloe moved to the window, pressing both hands against the glass.

"What is that?" she asked.

Nixon sighed, as if irritated. "If you must know, it's meteor rock."

Meteor rock?

Her throat constricted. Meteor rock. So that's what Nixon was experimenting with.

Ever since moving to Smallville, Chloe had had her own theories about meteor rocks. She believed the alien material gave off some sort of radiation that had the ability to mutate living creatures. There were just too many weird and unexplained things that happened in Smallville to prove otherwise. She'd seen it give normal people incredible powers, like shape-shifting and teleporting. Even their football coach from freshmen year had been exposed to the meteor rocks and ended up with the ability to manipulate fire. But she'd never seen it have this kind of effect on a person; then again, there were very little known about the alien rock.

That was what made Nixon's experiments so dangerous. Didn't the madman understand that meteor rock couldn't be controlled? Every thing, every person Chloe had ever seen have some sort of contact with the extraterrestrial plague reacted differently to its radiation. Going psycho was just about the only thing victims of meteor infection had in common. That and death.

She tried not to panic, but the urge to do so was too strong. Anxiously, she looked around the room for something – anything – to chuck at Nixon, her only thought to somehow knock the scientist out and shut down whatever it was he was doing to Clark.

She would even have settled for a pencil at that point but there was nothing, not even a chair at her disposal. For a moment she considered throwing herself at him again, but she had already tried that once. As much as she would have loved giving him a second black eye, she had to think about the consequences if she failed. Nixon was just starting to trust her – if she assaulted him again and didn't succeed, both she and Clark would suffer for it. He might separate them…or kill them. She didn't think he'd kill Clark, at least right away, but she was sure Nixon wouldn't hesitate getting rid of her, and Chloe had every intention of sticking around until she found a way to get him out.

She was stuck.

"Hang on, Clark," she whispered.

Pete insisted they take his car. His convertible was faster than Lana's car and if they, for any reason, needed to make a quick getaway his car would be the better deal.

"Uh, turn right up here on…Lee road," Lana said, reading the map as she spoke.

Signs for country roads in Kansas weren't always the easiest to see, especially in the less traveled areas. Pete searched the overgrowth for the sign. He found it peppered with buckshots and half hanging off its post.

"Nice," he commented, "Why doesn't somebody just steal it and put it out of its misery."

"I don't think anybody comes out this far to even do that," Lana replied.

She studied the map again. "If this is right we should be seeing the old sawmill in about a mile."

"Whoa, hold on a second," Pete said, pulling the convertible to a complete stop on the side of the road.

"What is it?" Lana asked.

Off to the side of the road, not quite hidden from view but intentionally deeper in the brush to pass by as a flat or a break down, was Chloe's little red volkswagon.

He couldn't breathe.

Clark rolled over. Eye's watering, he tried to push himself up, to no avail. His weak arms buckled and he collapsed to the floor.

Pain seared his chest. Vicious pain. Tearing at his insides. Burning like fire. Making him cringe.

Panicked, he opened his mouth, but his throat constricted painfully. He…couldn't…breathe…

"Hang on, Clark," Chloe whispered, a tear of frustration streaming down her cheek. It seemed like an eternity before a beep sounded from one of the monitors and Nixon pressed the hatch button. The shelf with the strange piece of rock on it retracted into the wall and the trap door slid shut.

Across the room, Clark collapsed to the floor. He lay still for a few moments, taking in long, deep breaths until finally the pain overwhelmed him and he rolled to his side, drawing up his knees and clutching his chest, his head down and his face twisted in agony.

"Are you finished?" Chloe asked crisply.

He didn't even look up when he answered, "Yes."

"Then let me go to him," she said. She needed to get Clark back to their cell, back to the only safety that was available to them.

He looked up at her, as if noticing for the first time she were in room. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

"Why not?" she demanded. "Your experiment is done. Let me take him back to where he can rest."

"Miss Sullivan, the radioactive levels in that room right now are dangerously high."

Chloe crossed her arms and glared at him, irritated beyond belief with the way he so casually discussed the toxicity of the room in which her friend was trapped. Through the window she saw Clark was still curled on his side. To her relief, she saw his chest rise and fall. That meant he was still breathing.

She shut her eyes, saying a silent prayer of thanks that he survived.

"How long until I can go in there?" she asked.

Nixon's fingers flew over the keyboard. "I'll let you know when I'm ready," he said.

Ready? Ready for what? she thought. She went back to the window, content to keep vigil over Clark even if it was through glass. Radioactive levels or no, if her friend stopped breathing she'd be out of this room and into the next if she had to throw Nixon's computer monitor through the plated glass. Besides, she had the vaguest suspicion that there was something Nixon wasn't telling her.

Chloe suppressed a shudder. Nixon couldn't be telling the whole truth. He had to be doing something to the meteor rock to make it so dangerous. There was no other explanation. Nevertheless, she had to get Clark out of there soon, before prolonged exposure to the stuff did serious damage, if serious damage hadn't been incurred already.

"Now Miss Sullivan," Nixon suddenly said, pulling her out of her thoughts. His tone was professional, as if their time together in the observation room was nothing more than an interview. "In the meantime, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Questions about what?" she asked tartly.

Her sarcasm was lost to him. "Are you from Smallville?" he asked.

"Yes."

"How old were you when the original meteor shower hit?"

"Three, why?"

"Are you familiar with meteor rocks?"

"Of course I'm familiar with meteor rocks!" she snapped. "Hello! I live in Smallville, meteor capital of the world!"

"Have you ever been exposed to the meteor rocks?"

And this is important why? she thought, irritated. Never taking her eyes off her friend she let out an exasperated sigh. "No."

Just keep him talking, she thought sourly. Just because she'd won the first battle didn't mean she'd win the next. She was just a teenager after all, battling wits with a seasoned scientist, even if he was insane. If she could seem as if she were cooperating with him he might let his guard down. She could use that to her advantage later, she reasoned.

Nixon was taking notes. He asked a few more questions, none of them pertaining to meteor rock. She answered them best she could, all the while keeping a close eye on Clark, who hadn't yet been able to move from where he'd fallen. If he was awake she couldn't tell.

Another beep sounded from the control panel and Nixon pressed a button. "Go to him," the grizzled doctor growled, without so much as looking up.

The tone of his voice caused her pause but she dismissed it, anxious to get to her friend.

Chloe rushed out of the observation room and into the next. Clark was unconscious, his skin hot to the touch. Pressing her fingers against his throat, she felt a weak pulse. Weak, but still there.

Slam! Realization hit her too late. Nixon had shut the door behind her. She too, was now trapped.

Rushing to the door she began pounding on it with her fists. "Nixon! Open this door!" she screamed. When there was no answer she pounded on the window, full well knowing he could see her.

"Nixon! You promised!"

She pounded on the window one last time before becoming aware of a hissing noise; air rustling through the ventilation shafts into the room. She chided herself. She should have listened to her gut.

Would Nixon now kill them both? Were his experiments finally done?

The dizziness hit her first. She swayed, suddenly unable to hold herself upright. It was a struggle just to remain conscious. If she passed out now, it was likely she would not wake up. Breathing hard, she stumbled toward Clark.

"See anything?" Lana asked.

"Nothing," Pete answered, shutting the door to Chloe's car. "No broken windows, no scratches on the paint. Chloe wasn't forced off the road - it looks like she pulled over and parked."

Lana pursed her lips, thinking. "It doesn't make sense."

"Sure it does," Pete replied. "She's smart."

"How so? I don't call coming out into the middle of nowhere looking for an insane scientist-kidnapper all alone to be very smart."

"Think about it, Lana," Pete said. "One person would attract less attention then an entire group. She probably thought that she could at least find where Clark was and come back for help."

When Lana didn't look convinced, he added, "Oh come on, you can't tell me you wouldn't be tempted to do the same thing."

She glanced back at Chloe's car. "No, I can't," she agreed. "So, what now?"

"Well, what are our options?"

"Call the cops?"

Pete shook his head. "No way. If we call the cops up in here, Chloe and Clark could be dead by the time they even get close to the place. There's just one road in and out of here – there's no telling what might happen if Nixon sees the entire Smallville Police force barreling down his road."

"You and I can't do it alone. Lex? He's got people."

He shook his head again. Not Lex, not when Clark's secret was at stake. Pete didn't even want to think about what would happen if Nixon had somehow discovered Clark's secret origins and then Lex's men stormed the place, finding everything. "I still don't know if I trust Lex," Pete said truthfully.

"So what do we do?

"Let's call Mr. Kent. He'll know what to do."

Jonathan Kent had always considered himself to be a patient man but after five days and still no word on Clark, his ability to be patient through difficult situations was beginning to wax and wane.

He stood in Lex's den, which for five days now had served as their impromptu headquarters. Tired, frustrated and desperate he ran his hand across his chin, feeling a week's worth of unshaved stubble. He was glad Martha had gone to lie down. She hadn't been able to get much sleep since Clark disappeared and the lack of rest seemed to finally be getting to her.

Not that he could talk. He was certain he could count the hours of sleep he had got on one hand.

Lex was out as well. All the better. With Jonathan's patience as thin as it was he couldn't promise himself he wouldn't lash out at the young man, just because he could.

He looked around the cluttered study. Jonathan knew it didn't look like this under normal circumstances. The pool table was littered with files, records, police reports, and photographs. Several laptop computers had been set up on Lex's desk, constantly scanning the Internet for hints or clues about Clark's disappearance. Several television monitors as well had been set up on rolling shelves beside his desk; these Jonathan was not entirely sure what their purpose was, however, he knew that Lex's resources reached further than conventional methods.

I don't care what he does, as long as it gets my son home, he thought raggedly.

So lost was he in his thoughts that he almost didn't notice the phone ringing. It wasn't the phone on Lex's desk - it was the one that stood on its own table next to the wet-bar. The "hotline" as Lex called it.

Jonathan crossed the room. He had to give Lex credit for the thoroughness the young man ensued. The "hotline" was a separate telephone line he had set up for the group as a focal point to communicate information about Clark's disappearance. With the entire group constantly on the move following leads, going from Torch to home and back to the mansion, it would have been difficult keeping track of everyone otherwise. The "hotline" was a secure line, unmonitored and unlisted. Only Lex, Pete, Chloe, Lana, the Kents, and Sheriff Ethan had the number.

Jonathan picked up the phone. "Hello?"

Lana's voice greeted him, "Mr. Kent?"

"Hi Lana, what's up?"

"I think I know where Clark is," she said breathlessly.

Jonathan was suddenly gripping the phone so hard his knuckles were turning white. "Where Lana? Where is he?" he practically shouted into the phone.

"We're about a mile from the old sawmill on Lee Road. Chloe's car is here and…"

"Wait, Lana, wait," Jonathan stopped her, trying desperately to piece together everything she was saying. "What do you mean, Chloe's car's there? She's not with you?"

"Chloe didn't come home Tuesday night, Mr. Kent. We think she may have gone looking for Clark."