A Death in the Family: Chapter Twelve
The sounds around the jail cell had become second nature for Jonathan Kent as he laid in the dark of his small six-by-eight cubical. The rock hard bunk bed that was covered by a thin lumpy mattress and accompanied by an equally thin pillow with a slight smell of weeks old vomit, and a wool coarse blanket was his only companion. The room also had a makeshift table and stool and a metal toilet and sink combination unit. The only thing he had become thankful for was that the other inmate, who was held on various assault violations, had been arraigned and moved to a state run facility to await trial while Jonathan and Martha, to his knowledge, had not so much as seen a courtroom yet. The process was taking longer than he thought appropriate and his lawyer had promised to clear up the matter of their missing files as soon as possible. For now, Jonathan was just happy to have his cell to himself and did not have to worry for his own safety while he was behind locked bars. He attempted to drift off into a light slumber as he thought he heard the sounds of keys being turned in the metal casing of his bars.
Jonathan sat up and squinted to adjust his eyesight to the dark hall. The only light was coming from the bright moon outside his thin slit of a window. The shuffle of shoes was heard as the bare door opened and a tall dark figure entered. A flashlight shone in his eyes, and Jonathan covered his face from the glare.
"Who is that?" He demanded.
"Jonathan," a familiar voice greeted him. The voice placed the flashlight on the table facing them as Lionel Luthor stepped into a clear view. "You look as if you are doing well, old friend."
"Lionel," Jonathan grunted, relaxing slightly. "Since when are they allowing after-hours visits?"
A clicking sound was heard and the lights in the hall and Jonathan's cell came on. The bright annoyance in the night was cursed by several of the inmates in the cells around them, but this was not something Lionel concerned himself with.
"I am a very wealthy man, Jonathan," Lionel reminded him. "I have ways of getting what I want."
"Like locking me and my wife up on some bogus charges that you fabricated?" Jonathan said with gritted teeth.
"I did not bring you up on any charges, my friend," Lionel returned running his finger across the table with a disgusted look. "It was the Kansas State police that decided to arrest you, not I."
"I'm sure the Luthor Corps bankroll had nothing to do with it, either," Jonathan sneered. "What do you want here, Lionel? It's late and I have a lot on my mind."
"Yes, I'm sure you do," Lionel replied with a gruff tone. "So I shall be brief. I want you to call your son and have him end this unholy crusade he has embarked on."
Jonathan looked at his foe with a puzzled stare. "Why are you so interested in Clark's life all of a sudden?"
"Your son is involved with a very serious and dangerous matter, Jonathan. I would think you would want to put an end to this before someone was seriously hurt," Lionel stood over him.
"Was that a thinly veiled threat?" Jonathan asked.
Lionel sighed as if bored. "Believe if or not Jonathan, there are far more evil things in this world than myself."
"As hard as I find that to believe, Clark is his own man, Lionel," Jonathan stood up. "I would think that having a son like Lex would have help make that obvious to you. All our children reach an age when we are no longer able to contain them."
"Oh, but I know that Clark has always respected and looked up to you Jonathan," Lionel smiled with a shaking finger. "Your son never had my son's rebellious side. Clark would listen to you if you were to ask him to come home."
Jonathan thought for a moment and got close up to Lionel's face. "What is this really all about, Lionel? How close has Clark gotten to your dark little secrets that you would actually make you plea for my help?"
Lionel's face got stone serious. "I once answered your plea for help, Jonathan. I did as you asked and I never questioned you on your motives."
Jonathan turned away with a disgusted look. "I sold my soul to the devil once a long time ago, and several of my friends suffered for it."
Lionel stood behind him and spoke over his shoulder. "You helped talk some of your fellow farmers into trusting me, and they were all handsomely rewarded, as were you."
Covering his mouth with his hands, Jonathan lowered his head.
"Your wife wanted the child so badly from the moment she held him," Lionel continued. "How could you possibly turn the little boy away? You yourself had already fallen in love with the child, but there were questions of who he was and where he came from, but I never asked them, and I made the questions go away, Jonathan. I gave you a son."
Jonathan raised his head to the heavens as if in silent prayer.
"I am asking you to help me keep your son out of trouble, and in turn I shall let you keep him," Lionel said with a voice slightly above a whisper.
The rage was burning inside of Jonathan and it took all he had to fight his inner self and hold it down. "I don't think that I can stop Clark now that he has his mind set on solving the mystery behind Lex's death. He won't listen to me on this matter."
"Make him listen," Lionel's voice growled. "There is no mystery for your son to solve. Lex died because he was driving drunk, and that is all anyone needs to know."
Jonathan turned to face his jailer again. "Why are you covering up your own son's death, Lionel? What is so dangerous that if everyone knew it would harm either of you any more? Lex is dead, the worst has happened, and still you are hiding something."
"A religious man as yourself should understand the concept of 'an eye for an eye." Lionel stared with cold eyes into Jonathan's. "Now I am making the same gesture for you. I helped cover for your son, and now I demand you do the same for mine. When your son contacts you, as I am sure he will, you make sure that he puts and end to this circus. Or everyone will know that Clark Kent has a mysterious past which could lead to all types of inquiries as to who the lost child in the corn field really was."
"As long as we are making threats here, Lionel," Jonathan returned with an equally evil stare. "Perhaps you should be worried about what will happen when the world discovers that this whole drunk driving charge was fabricated to hide some deep and dark family secret of your own."
"Don't," Lionel's voice was loud and sharp as he spoke. "Don't toy with me little man. I will crush you like the roach that you are."
Jonathan's manners turned towards surprise. "Oh, dear Lord," he gasped. "You really are scared out of your mind over this matter. Someone has Lionel Luthor over the barrel for once, and I have the feeling that we Kents are just pawns in this sick little scenario."
"Don't task me, Jonathan," Lionel warned one last time before turning back to the unlocked bars.
Jonathan approached the bars as Lionel locked them again. "Just remember one thing, Luthor. Your hands in Clark's adoption may not be so clean either. This could come back and bite us all in the butt."
Lionel chose not to respond, but simply walked away.
When Lionel returned to the back seat of his limousine, a young male assistant, who held a cell phone to his ear, met him. The young, blond man ended his conversation when Lionel slid in next to him.
"We have some good news, Mr. Luthor," The assistant spoke. "A young man and two girls fitting the description of the Kent boy and his friends were seen at a connivance store just outside of Bludhaven, earlier today. The eyewitness believed he saw them driving in the direction of Gotham City.
Lionel gave him an evil smirk. "Very good, Walters. Give the order to find young mister Kent and his flunkies and use whatever means necessary to stop them from prying any further into this matter."
"Yes, sir," The handsome man nodded and picked up the phone again.
The hall was cool and dank as Lana made her way back down to the first floor of Wayne Manor. She found that she could not easily fall asleep, so she decided that perhaps a short trip to the kitchen for some warm milk would ease her mind into a slumber. She was not sure where the kitchen was actually located, but was rather sure that, as in most houses, it would be somewhere on the first floor, towards the back of the structure.
She made her way down the large corridor that the group had been in earlier which held the sitting room and Bruce's study. She pulled her robe tightly around herself over her modest pajamas as she passed the slightly ajar door to the study. It had been late when they arrived, and now it was even later, but she could see the back of Bruce's head sitting by the fire with a glass of red wine in his hand, still wide awake.
Her fear of the mysterious man told her to just walk past and not disturb him, but her usual kind nature got the best of her as she noticed he was staring at the large painted portrait of his parents over the fireplace mantle. She approached the door and knocked lightly as she entered the room.
"Mr. Wayne, it's Lana. May I come in?" She announced herself softly.
Bruce looked at her for a moment, but did not say a word. He took a sip of his drink and returned his stare towards the picture.
"That's a beautiful picture," she commented from a few feet away. "I wish my parents had one commissioned like that before they died."
"Is there something I could do for you, Miss Lang?" He asked rather curtly, ignoring her compliments.
"I was looking for the kitchen and couldn't help but notice you were still awake," she said as she approached his chair. "I didn't think it would be proper to just walk by and not see if you were all right. I guess we are both night owls tonight."
"I don't sleep very well at night anymore," he told her using his same short manners. "A psychologist once told me that it was because I watched my parents being killed at night. She said I have built up an unhealthy fear of the dark."
"Well, considering you are sitting here alone in the dark in this big empty house," Lana smiled. "I would say the dark is not your greatest fear."
"Some might say that I fear the night," Bruce added.
"And what do you say?" Lana asked, taking a seat on the armchair to his left.
He looked at her with haunting eyes. "I say that I am terrorized by my dreams. I continue to have dreams of my parents deaths, and I think of how many other people may be going through the same brutal attacks each moment as I lay there in my safe, warm bed."
Lana gave him a polite little smile over her fear for his mental well being. "That sounds a little obsessive. Don't you think?"
"My doctors say it is because of the guilt I felt in not being able to help my parents as they were being murdered before my eyes," Bruce spoke staring at the flames. "They claim that there is a side of me that is agonizing to get out and atone for their loss."
"Wow, that's deep," Lana raised her eyebrows. "Sounds all kinda 'dark knight' to me. Perhaps you have some type of hero complex that makes you want to correct the wrongs of this world."
Bruce looked deeply into her eyes. "I must apologize, Miss Lang. I do not even know you, yet here I am telling you my deepest psychosis three minutes after you walk into the room." He leaned in and touched her hand. "Forgive me if I sound forward, but I feel that there is a bond between us, and that I can somehow trust you."
"Maybe there is a bond," she blushed slightly at the touch of his hand on hers. "Mr. Wayne, I watched my parents being killed before my eyes in a horrible way like you did. It actually happened the same year. I was only three and you were nine."
"Lana Lang?" Bruce thought out loud. "Yes, I remember now. We were both featured in an article in Time magazine that year. It was a follow up story to their 'Terror in The Heartland' story, and I believe you were on the cover."
"And my friends told me I have a good memory," Lana smiled. "I also remember your piece in that article. I then kept up with your story in various other clippings over the years. I'm afraid that there were not a whole lot of them, but unlike an unknown poor girl from Smallville, a rich boy from Gotham City made for better reading and they kept up with you."
"Yes, it was years before the tabloids stopped hounding until recently when I began dating," Bruce told her. "It seems that my numerous encounters with the opposite gender has sparked the media's attention again, and they have dubbed me 'Gotham City's most notorious ladies man.'"
"And yet, here you sit alone before a roaring fire," Lana reminded him.
He took a sip of his drink and turned to her. "I am not alone any longer, am I, Lana?"
Lana blushed at his apparent interest. "I guess not," she hesitated for a second and then added, "Bruce."
Bruce peeked at the fire and then turned back to her. "Lana, would you and your friends be my guests tomorrow night for dinner and a night out on the town?"
"I'm sure we would love it," Lana smiled again. "Things have been so hectic for us the last few days, I'm sure a night out would be a great release."
"Very good," he patted her hand. "Then we can consider it a date."
Again Lana blushed, and this time she had to turn away to conceal her excitement.
The Library at the opposite end of the building was larger than any private collection that Chloe Sullivan had ever seen. The room was well over fifty feet in every angle and each wall was lined with shelf after shelf of books that reached up the entire ceiling. A catwalk lined the walls about ten feet up. She marveled at the thirst for knowledge the Wayne family must have acquired over the years. It would not come as a surprise to her if each of these books were real first print addition.
She entered the dimly lit room with her flashlight and began to browse the walls of books. She made her way over several of the shelves before she realized that a large portion of these books were 'real crimes' related. Bruce had collected many entire collections of law books and several police journals, among other various crime related reading materials. There were also books on physical devolvement and care, along with several intense readings on martial arts and eastern philosophies and healing techniques. Along with the several classics, which were kept in the upper level of the room, she found several books and files on the criminal minds as well as personal stories from confessed criminals of all types. It was apparent to Chloe that this Bruce Wayne person was obsessed with the criminal mind and law enforcement along with physical well being and enhancement.
After several minutes Chloe made her way to the center of the room where a complete computer set up was placed on a desk for further research. She sat on the chair and pressed a few buttons and keys that brought the machine to life.
"And here we have the mother load," Chloe smiled in the glow of the monitor's light. "All I need now is the secret password."
She tried several attempts before she sighed in defeat. "Come on Chloe, you met this guy for a whole five minutes just today. His life should be an open book to you now. The pass word should be a cinch."
She had tried several words as the hour pressed on, but to no avail. Then a rapping on the large floor-to-ceiling window behind her started her. Chloe looked up and saw a bat had somehow mistaken the closed window as an open one, and slammed itself against the plate glass.
After her heart had returned to a normal beat again, Chloe sighed and turned back to the computer. She stared at the uncooperative screen and took a deep breath. She was about to try another failed attempt when a thought crossed her mind. She peeked back as the window and then the monitor again.
Chloe raised her hand over the keyboard and typed in three simple letters: 'B', 'A', and 'T'. With this word set in place, she tapped the enter button, and the screen lit up with a loud noise announcing that she had successfully made it past the security wall and was into the computers mainframe.
Chloe smiled at her own accomplishment and then returned her interest to the matter at hand. "Now, Mr. Wayne, let's see how much you really know about our friends in the terror cells." She did not speak again and engrossed herself in the matter at had. Chloe worked well into the morning hours digging up all she could about Lex and Bruce's attacker.
Alfred Pennyworth was still fully dressed at the late hour when he passed the room where Clark Kent was staying. He could see that the light was still on in the room from under the door, so he took the chance and knocked softly on the barrier.
Clark looked up from the note pad he had on his lap and answered. "Come in."
Alfred opened the door and stuck his head into the room. "I trust everything is well with you master Kent? Is your evening attire acceptable?"
"Perfect. Who would turn down silk?" Clark smiled from under the blankets in his new silk pajamas that he had been given to wear. He looked lost in the king-size bed with the four enormous bedposts. The room was large and furnished with several antique pieces of furniture including two dresser draws, a full size dressing mirror and a small sofa at the foot of the bed with two nightstands on either side. There was also a large fireplace with two large armchairs and a coffee table before it. The entire room had an elegance that Clark seldom saw in Smallville, and it was rather overwhelming.
"This room is bigger than our livestock barn," he joked with the older man. "Are all the rooms this big?"
Alfred slipped into the room and began to fold up the comforter that Clark had placed on the sofa near his feet. "This is actually the largest sleeping chamber in the house," Alfred told him as he worked. "To most, it would be considered the master bedroom."
"Really," Clark was surprised. "Then why doesn't Mr. Wayne sleep in here?"
Alfred stopped for a moment as if lost and thought. "There was a time when here was the only place young master Bruce would sleep. The young master slumbered here many nights as a youth. He would climb be between his parents often as they slept, but master James Wayne would not hear of his son sleeping here between he and the madam. He would tell young Bruce that he needed to be a man and sleep in his own room, so Bruce would wait until he thought his father was asleep, and then he would sneak in and cuddle for the night and then sneak out at first light."
Clark smiled as he thought about a young Bruce. "Did his father ever catch him?"
Alfred finished the folding and allowed a smile to cross his thin lips. "I assure you that Master James had learned to be a very light sleeper in his years of being a doctor intern, so I suspect that he was fully aware when Master Bruce would enter the bed, but he allowed the young boy his little secret and feign sleep until he was ready to return to his own quarters."
"Mister Wayne senior sounds a lot like my dad," Clark smiled again. "So is that why Bruce can't sleep in this room?"
"I suspect so," Alfred's face grew glum. "Master Bruce keeps very much to himself, but I remember for several months after his parent's deaths, he would come here alone and sleep in this very bed. He would bunch up the blankets and comforters into two separate piles on either side, as if they were to cover two persons, and then he would snuggle between them and drift off into a tearful slumber. Then one morning, about three months after the deaths, he simply left the room and never returned."
Clark looked at his pad as if studying the yellow pages. "Bruce has a lot of pain built up inside, doesn't he?"
"I'm afraid the young sir has known little pleasure in his life," Alfred confirmed.
"Sounds a lot like Lex," Clark added. "I mean, he still had his father, but I think his real parents died when his mother died. From what I can tell, Lionel was not very good at showing his affections towards his son."
"Mr. Luthor may not have had much of a family life, but it would appear that he made very healthy choices in choosing his friends," Alfred assured him. "There are not a lot of people who would risk their very well being to search out a murder that, to all known conclusions, never happened."
Clark looked away uneasily.
"I apologize," Alfred grew alarmed. "Have I said something to upset you?"
"No, not really," Clark tied to convinced him with a hurt look on his face. "It's just, I can get so mixed up in this whole mystery that I sometimes forget how much I actually miss him"
Alfred walked around to the side of the bed and sat on the edge next to Clark. "We must all learn to deal with our grief in our own way, Master Kent. I can assure you that Mister Luthor is well aware of your feelings."
"I hope so," Clark's sad eyes looked up. He wanted to say more to this man whom he felt that he could trust, but he dare not tell of his suspicions that Lex may, in fact, not be dead, but in the hands of those who may still want to hurt him. He wanted to talk to someone who could reason these things through with him and not just try to comfort his anguished thoughts. Unfortunately, he was still not sure if he could trust these people, so he would have to wait.
"Is there anything I could get for you before I retire for the evening?" Alfred asked, standing up again.
"No," Clark forced a smile. "I just want to finish this letter to my folks that I can't mail, and then I'm going to get some sleep myself."
"Very well," Alfred nodded and opened the door. "Do sleep well, young sir."
"Thank you, and you too," Clark returned.
Alfred stopped before he left. He turned to Clark with a concerned look. "If I might say so, Master Kent. I think your being here is a very good thing for Master Bruce. I am afraid that he has not had very many interactions with other young people since his parents passing. I believe your being here could be a very good thing for him." Alfred gave another of his thin smiles. "I do hope you shall not be in such a rush to leave once your adventure is over."
Clark could see the parental concern from the hired servant for the young man in his care. He knew that Alfred loved Bruce as his own son, and it warmed him to think that even someone as sullen and alone as Bruce still had someone who cared. "I'll try not to hurry off, Mr. Pennyworth."
Alfred nodded his head again and closed the door as he left the room.
The very early morning sun had started coming up through the window in the dark room. It had been days, or perhaps weeks, since the rays had touched the face of the only room's occupant. A rustling sound could be heard in the darkness as if human flesh were moving against cloth materials. A few muffled grunts were also uttered into the blackness, as the moving became more apparent.
A shuddering sound was heard as two feet hit the cold, hard ground. It had been a long time since the two feet had felt anything solid underneath them, and the matter was made worse by one foot being covered by a hard non-giving material. The cold and shear pain of the movement after days of total stillness was almost unbearable, but the only relief for the pain was in the tube removed from the arm several hours earlier.
With a swift movement aided only by one available free hand, a body was swung around and sat up with a dizzy start. The body was frail and weak, but still the mind pushed it forward to its final objective.
The few steps across the dark room were torturous and time consuming, but done in the fastest possible time available to the delicate body. A slightly quicker shuffle was heard across the lanolin floor. Then a hand felt a wall and thick curtains across what must have been the windows. The window was set into the wall with about a foot of wall between the inner wall and the glass frame. The hand searched around and, after what seemed an agonizing amount of time, touched what it was trying to find.
The strain of the short walk and pressure to make it out of bed had been too much, and the frail form fell to the floor with a clacking sound. A loud grunt was heard as the pain of the fall covered over the pain already present.
The body waited several seconds to listen for any approaching footsteps, but there were none. After a few more minutes, the soul was sure that it had not been heard and decided it was safe to move again. The tender hand reached up from the cool floor to the windowsill again, and again found the hard solid object that it was seeking.
Picking up the object was a task in this weak condition, but there was no turning back now. The object was fairly small, about a foot at its longest dimension, but moving it was difficult at the time. The lifting became more of a drag after the first second and it brushed against the thick black curtains, allowing just a sliver of morning light to shine in. The glow lit up the wooden object and its shape became clear. The item was a crude carving of a wooden horse.
The pale hand with the carving fell to the floor as the blind returned to it's closed position, again removing all light from the room. The light was unimportant at this time for the soul. The hand held tightly to the wooden horse, pulling it in closer to its chest. The silence again returned as the person holding the object drifted off to sleep.
TO BE CONTINUED:
***NOTES***
Thank you 'all' again for the great comments and reviews. I am trying very hard to keep the story enjoyable, fresh and entertaining, so it's nice to know you guys are enjoying it.
The biggest change is that I finally figured out how to save my chapters in html format, so I went through and reloaded all the chapters, and I think they should be easier to read. Thanks to all the people who tried to help me with this problem. I actually discovered how to do it when playing with my computer at work, which has windows xp, and I saw the format as part of my saves. So even with all the explanations, it took a fluke for me to solve the problem. So I am living proof that even an idiot can learn something new.
To Marrie: Thanks again, and welcome to Monday.
To MithPell: You might be on to something. Then again. In any case, thanks for reading and your continued support.
To whom ever didn't leave a name: Thank you for your kind words, and I hope you continue to read and enjoy.
To Robyn: I think Bruce is and would be a very complex man at this age, and I'm trying to write him as that. He wants to reach out as a man, but we all know that somewhere in his mind the recluse of the Bat calls. Thank you for always reading and letting me know what you think. You Marrie Teri, and MitchPell have been great through all of this. I am honestly aiming to please. Oh, and shout out.
To Teri: Thanks again for your comments. I think things between Clark and Bruce will get very complicated as time goes on.
Well that rounds things out for this chapter, and I want you all to know that I wrote this chapter a few weeks ago, and I'm very interested to see how my take on Clark's adoption and Lionel's involvement with it will pan out on tomorrows episode Lineage. From all indications of the commercials, I may have hit on something. Yet in all farness, I also remember reading a similar idea in at least one other story here at FF.net very early in the show's history which dealt with Lionel's involvement in the adoption, so I may have been influence by that said story. In any case, it should be interesting.
Until next time.
Phaze