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More Powerful: Chapter 51
- Remembrance -
When Clark reached the warehouse he found it a bee's nest of activity. When he landed, the coroner was wheeling a black bagged gurney onto the ambulance. The red and blue lights revolving and reflecting off the buildings.
Clark shook the hand of the officer in charge. "Can I be of any assistance?"
The young man was shorter and tipped his hat back as he craned his neck to look into Clark's face. "This one is pretty cut and dry. Lex Luthor finally got his." His New York accent broken up by the gum he chewed thoughtfully. "You know anything about this, Superman?"
Clark nodded solemnly. "I'm afraid I do, officer. I was called away by an emergency, but returned to be of any help I can."
The young man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his card. He handed it to Clark. [IDetective Josiah McNally.[/I "I'd be grateful if you'd stop by the station and help clear up a few of the finer points. We got most of the highlights from the woman."
Clark's eyebrows went up. "The woman? Is she alright?"
The detective laughed. "Yeh I'll say. She's got a pretty good size hole in her, but I've seen worse. She took a liking to one of my officers. We just put her in the ambulance not ten minutes ago. I have a feeling she's looking forward to showing him her scar, if you know what I mean." His face lit up in a suggestive smile.
Clark blinked.
Detective McNally cleared his throat and fidgeted with his notepad. "Anyway. She's downtown in the hospital gettin' stitched up. Looks like an open and shut case of self defense."
"Detective. I think we've got the murder weapon." An officer emerged from the warehouse and approached, holding a clear plastic bag containing the bloodstained shard of Kryptonite.
Clark took a step back.
Noticing his discomfort Josiah snapped his gum and whacked the officer on the back of the head. "You moron! Don't you know what that is? Get it outta here! Sorry about that Superman. Eugene ain't the brightest bulb in the drawer if ya know…."
Clark held up his hand and nodded his thanks.
"If there is nothing else then, Detective…" Clark looked heavenward.
"Oh yeh. Fly the coop. We'll see ya at the station."
With a final nod, Clark took to the air.
He made a stop at Lois' to pick up a very surprised Derrick, still tied and duct taped to Lois' porch swing. He was wisely silent for most of the flight to the police station.
They flew in silence a few moments and Clark could feel the boy trembling beneath his hand.
"What do you know?" Clark's voice was a coiled snake, his jaw set.
"About what?" Derrick asked, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead.
"It's a long way down, Derrick." He gave a little shake.
Derrick yelped, his eyes widening. "Oh, about the kid? Luthor wanted him dead for some reason. Knew you and that reporter were close I guess. I wasn't exactly his confidante. I just took the money and did what I was told."
Clark's eyes burned into Derrick's. The boy was telling the truth.
He dropped down near the rear entrance, stopping an officer on his way into the building. He explained the situation and said he would be back soon to explain things to detective McNally.
The officer nodded with a solemn "Ok sir."
The rest of the night had been spent helping where he was needed, he was swift and efficient. His body went through the motions, while his mind was caught up in silent contemplation, pouring over the events that had unfolded.
The stars were losing their battle with the dawn as Clark reached his destination. The wind scraped along the outer walls of the fortress, causing the air to hum around them like the wailing song of a thousand wind chimes.
Clark exhaled and his shoulders bowed under the weight he carried. This had always been his place of refuge. He always seemed to think clearest here. The voices of the world seemed quieter, somehow. Clark stood just inside the entrance to the fortress, his eyes taking in every familiar inch. His heart was torn between his gratitude that this sanctuary of his heritage could once again call from beyond time to help him, and the crushing loss of the continuation of his fading bloodline, his ancestry…
The silence wrapped around him like a blanket as he fell to his knees in emotional exhaustion. The first rays of the early morning sun glittered off of the crystal surfaces, filling the room with its warmth and light. Clark closed his eyes and turned his face to the comforting caress.
He warred within himself. He felt so selfish to feel this way when his son lived. He knew in his heart Jason would grow to be a good man. But his heart ached for the loss of secret glances through rooftops and lazing through the clouds on a sunny day, his son in flight beside him. Loneliness echoed off the walls of his heart, and his breath escaped him in a soul deep sigh. Clark took comfort in the hope of memories yet to be made and mourned the legacy he had lost. And yet, Clark pondered the future that unfurled before him, there would be little league games and birthday parties, scraped knees and school dances. He'd see every school play, and see Jason through his first break up. There was an endless list of milestones that waited to be celebrated.
"Kal-El. My son," his father's voice reverberated through his inner ear, his mind's eye, conjuring the displaced, shimmering image of his father's face. Jor-El's voice was as familiar to him as his own, he'd spent years in this place, learning and marveling at the insight and knowledge of this planet and the others yet to be discovered by humanity. His mind travelled to Kansas and to the memories of Johnathan Kent, simple lessons learned on a Kansas farm house by a man who'd raised him as if he were his own. From this man he learned the matters of the heart, how to be honest, and how to love.
In his heart the images blended. Two men who had both been his father in equal measure. Each provided a legacy for him to pass through to his son. They wouldn't be forgotten. Their story would be told generation after generation, as his family grew and secrets were entrusted, the home in the heavens that loved him enough to send him away would be engraved in the heart of his grandchildren. The homespun wisdom of a kindly farmer would be weaved in as well, creating a tapestry, a legacy of honor, of commitment, of love.
Two families, forging into one lineage, culminating in him.
Clark drew in a breath and lifted his head.
