I was in a pensive mood that evening and after Clark, who still kept farmer's hours, had gone to bed, I stood on the roof with a drink, watching the night sky and the city lights.
If the Luthor luck had ever failed me, it was in the case of Clark's parents. I had given them every chance to play the part that would keep them as much under my protection as before. Mentally, I relived the scene, to reassure myself that I had been left with little other choice. I'd gone to them myself, saying that I had Clark and that he was unwell. Jonathan Kent had glared at me with his inimical stare and thanked me coldly, saying that he would bring Clark back home. I'd said, mildly, that I would much rather keep him under my own eye, that I believed that Clark's destiny lay with me rather than on a farm and explained that their cooperation, which I would reward, would mean the freedom from worry, the ease, that they deserved. Martha Kent shook her head sadly and Jonathan Kent began what would doubtless have been an interminable lecture. I had no patience for this and started to leave, saying that Clark was in my hands and would stay there. Jonathan Kent, insisting that I stop doing whatever it was that I was doing to Clark and "give him back," threatened me.
It was a sad miscalculation on my part to expect him to be reasonable. Perhaps Martha Kent would have been more so; I consider her a genuinely innocent victim of many different forces. I knew also that Jonathan Kent was a man of his word, no matter how rash or impulsive or ill-judged. It was a choice between their lives and the future I had planned for both Clark and for myself.
I recovered the situation as best I could, so at least in the long run, my luck had held. I would have prefered, though, for them to be allies in making Clark my ally.
Overall, though, my other risks had paid off. At the very least, Clark Kent's reporting was neutralized. That was the smallest of my goals but it was pleasant to consider it accomplished. Superman's interference? Being mitigated. Superman as my overt ally? That was the real prize. I savored the thought in my mind. He had become such an easy icon for all the values that people think are enough, the Cinderella virtues, allied with a near-magical strength. An angel that required no theology, that required no soul-searching. I wouldn't be surprised if somebody was now writing a book on channeling the inner Superman or some such flim-flam. To link all that symbolism to my name would open every door to me.
I raised my glass slightly in a toast to my own future as I turned to go back inside. I frowned as I saw Clark standing in the doorway, as if my own thoughts had somehow summoned him. He looked perturbed, brow furrowed and eyes deep in puzzled thought.
"Clark. I didn't even hear you come up. Couldn't sleep?"
He continued to frown, then shook his head. "It's so strange. I can't remember, but this seems so odd, so familiar. It's blurry, though."
After moving my hand so I could reach the box if need be, I stood motionless. "What is?"
"Lex? Stand there. Against the wall." His words came slowly, like water being wrung out of a nearly dry sponge.
Not taking my eyes off him, I stepped back and leaned casually against the wall. Even if he didn't yet realize it, he was trying to recreate the events of the night I started to take him back. I had to pretend to comply but make sure that he never got close to discovering the truth. The reflection of that past affection that had kept me from letting them throw him over the rooftop demanded it as much as my own ambitions did.
If the Luthor luck had ever failed me, it was in the case of Clark's parents. I had given them every chance to play the part that would keep them as much under my protection as before. Mentally, I relived the scene, to reassure myself that I had been left with little other choice. I'd gone to them myself, saying that I had Clark and that he was unwell. Jonathan Kent had glared at me with his inimical stare and thanked me coldly, saying that he would bring Clark back home. I'd said, mildly, that I would much rather keep him under my own eye, that I believed that Clark's destiny lay with me rather than on a farm and explained that their cooperation, which I would reward, would mean the freedom from worry, the ease, that they deserved. Martha Kent shook her head sadly and Jonathan Kent began what would doubtless have been an interminable lecture. I had no patience for this and started to leave, saying that Clark was in my hands and would stay there. Jonathan Kent, insisting that I stop doing whatever it was that I was doing to Clark and "give him back," threatened me.
It was a sad miscalculation on my part to expect him to be reasonable. Perhaps Martha Kent would have been more so; I consider her a genuinely innocent victim of many different forces. I knew also that Jonathan Kent was a man of his word, no matter how rash or impulsive or ill-judged. It was a choice between their lives and the future I had planned for both Clark and for myself.
I recovered the situation as best I could, so at least in the long run, my luck had held. I would have prefered, though, for them to be allies in making Clark my ally.
Overall, though, my other risks had paid off. At the very least, Clark Kent's reporting was neutralized. That was the smallest of my goals but it was pleasant to consider it accomplished. Superman's interference? Being mitigated. Superman as my overt ally? That was the real prize. I savored the thought in my mind. He had become such an easy icon for all the values that people think are enough, the Cinderella virtues, allied with a near-magical strength. An angel that required no theology, that required no soul-searching. I wouldn't be surprised if somebody was now writing a book on channeling the inner Superman or some such flim-flam. To link all that symbolism to my name would open every door to me.
I raised my glass slightly in a toast to my own future as I turned to go back inside. I frowned as I saw Clark standing in the doorway, as if my own thoughts had somehow summoned him. He looked perturbed, brow furrowed and eyes deep in puzzled thought.
"Clark. I didn't even hear you come up. Couldn't sleep?"
He continued to frown, then shook his head. "It's so strange. I can't remember, but this seems so odd, so familiar. It's blurry, though."
After moving my hand so I could reach the box if need be, I stood motionless. "What is?"
"Lex? Stand there. Against the wall." His words came slowly, like water being wrung out of a nearly dry sponge.
Not taking my eyes off him, I stepped back and leaned casually against the wall. Even if he didn't yet realize it, he was trying to recreate the events of the night I started to take him back. I had to pretend to comply but make sure that he never got close to discovering the truth. The reflection of that past affection that had kept me from letting them throw him over the rooftop demanded it as much as my own ambitions did.