The lights in the foyer of Wayne Manor clicked on a split second after the large front door had been opened. Alfred Pennyworth was trying with all his might to maneuver the listless form of Clark Kent through the entranceway. Clark had his left arm slumped over Alfred's shoulder, but still leaned forward so far that Alfred was carrying him under his arm. His feet were moving in a swinging motion as it took all of Clark's energy to propel himself in a forward direction.
Once at the foot of the stairs, Alfred placed his young charge down carefully and took a few deep breaths trying to stop the heaving motion of his own chest. He knew that he would never be the young man he once was ever again, but he also had no idea that he could feel so old so fast. The events of the night and now having to move the heavy teen were taking its toll on him. He knew it was time that he hit the training room that Bruce had built onto the second floor of the mansion with all the new high-tech exercise equipment and aerobic training devices.
Clark lay with his back against the steps looking up at the older man as he gasped for breath. He wanted to move, but could not bring himself to lift a muscle. He licked at his dry lips as a salty feeling came to his mouth. "Shower," he managed to whisper.
Alfred looked at him. "Sir?"
"Wash off this stuff," Clark groaned.
"Of course," Alfred's eyes lit up. "What ever is making you ill was in the reservoir water supply, and since we use well water here, then it would wash away anything the city water infected you with."
Clark forced his head to nod in agreement.
"Clark?" Lana Lang came running in the door with a somber looking Bruce Wayne trailing behind.
She kneeled next to him and touched his face. "Clark, you are looking worse with every passing minute. Are you okay?"
Clark could do nothing but look up at her with the small slits of his open eyes. He felt her warm and gentle hand slip into his as she held tightly to him. "Don't do this, Clark," a tear rolled down her face. "Don't leave me."
"Miss Lana," Alfred interrupted. "We must get Master Clark up to his shower and wash the contaminated water off of him."
"He needs a doctor," she pleaded with her hurt eyes. "I have never seen Clark this sick before. There's something seriously wrong."
Bruce stood behind them with his hands in his pockets just watching.
"First we must get him to the shower and I will call doctor Thompkins," Alfred explained pulling up on Clark's arm. He took a look back at Bruce and Lana. "This would go much faster if one of you were to assist me."
Lana reached for Clark's other arm and began to tug on it. "Oh, my goodness," she grunted. "I never realized Clark was so heavy."
The two of them managed to get Clark up to a semi standing position and turned towards the steps again. Alfred leaned his mouth close to Clark's ear. "You must help us, young sir," he stated softly. "Begin to step up and we shall catch you if you stumble."
In a misty haze, Clark nodded once and lifted his right leg slowly for the first step. The action caused Lana to stagger a little and she used her free hand to steady herself against the wall.
The first ten steps were agonizing and Lana thought she had reached her end when Clark's weight tossed her hard against the wall. She felt her footing slip and she began to lean backwards. Just as she thought she was about to lose her balance and go rolling down the steps, she felt a strong hand push against the small of her back and steady her stance. Bruce Wayne's free hand then came around and pulled up on Clark's arm, which she had flung over her shoulder. Lana looked back and she saw that he was positioning himself in her place while helping her maintain her balance. She gave him a slight smile as she stepped aside and allowed the two men to continue with Clark on his journey.
The walk had taken forever as Lana followed behind, but they finally made it through the master bedroom into the bathroom where they lifted Clark into the large tub and shower unit. Upon the release, Clark wilted to the bottom of the tub and fell face down on the cool white porcelain.
"What now?" Lana asked.
Alfred reached for the knobs and turned the shower on. "I need to get him out of his wet attire," Alfred announced as he tugged at Clark's suit coat.
"Okay," Lana said leaning in next him.
Alfred looked up at her. "I believe that I can handle it from here," he told her. "I think you would be of much better service if you were to check on Master Bruce."
"Bruce?" She repeated. "You're right," her words stopped short as she realized that he had disappeared just after dropping Clark.
The water was getting all three of them wet since they had not pulled the shower doors shut, so her face was running from the moisture when she looked again at Alfred. "I don't know," she sighed. "I wouldn't know what to say."
"Please," Alfred stopped what he was doing to give her a meaningful look. "Master Bruce needs someone right now, and I need to attend to your friend."
Lana looked down again at Clark who had rolled over on his side and seemed to be gasping for mouths full of the water. She took a deep breath and rose to her feet.
"Okay," she stated with an uncertain stare in her eyes. "Please let me know if Clark needs me."
Alfred nodded as he got the last arm of Clark's jacket off.
He had managed to pull the necktie off from around Clark's neck when Alfred felt Clark's handgrip around his wrist. In spite of his condition, the grasp was quite strong and gave Alfred a jolt at first.
His eyes were red and bloodshot with large, dark rings under them when Clark looked up at him. "Please leave," he said with a horse voice. "I can handle it from here."
"I do not believe that it would be wise to leave you alone in your present condition," Alfred protested.
"I'm fine," Clark put up his own defense. "Please leave."
Alfred looked at him for a moment. He knew that this young stranger was deathly ill, but he could not deny the insistence that seemed to cover his face. Clark wanted to be alone, and he knew it was not negotiable.
"Very well," Alfred climbed to his feet. "I shall give you fifteen minutes as I call Doctor Thompkins and check in on the master, but I shall be back and offer my help regardless of you acceptance or not."
Clark could not even bring himself to look up as he heard the door close. He rolled up onto his knees and began to pull at his shirt. He needed to get the clothes off, but he could not allow anyone to see what his flesh looked like under the garments. Clark held his hand up to the light and saw that he had the same grayish tone with the green spider veins that seemed to cover him whenever he was close to the meteor fragments. He knew he could get away with it on his hands and not be noticed while they were worried about his health, but he could feel the same sensation had taken over the rest of his body as well. He ripped the shirt from his upper torso to find that his suspicions were right, and his whole body was turning gray with shades of green.
The next things to go were his pants. A two-thousand-dollar suit lay in torn shreds around the bathroom floor, but Clark could not bring himself to care. He kneeled nude in the tub with his head against the cool tiles. With the last of his strength, he reached up and turned the water controls to their highest setting of hot and steam filled the room.
At first the burning sensation made him flinch, but after a few seconds his newly delicate body adjusted to the intense heat and he enjoyed the small comfort that came to his tired flesh. The gray in his skin tone began to lessen, but the pit of his stomach still called out with violent eruptions. The salty taste returned to his mouth as he felt the lining of his throat begin to contract and his stomach started to do a little dance.
Clark lurched forward as the sensation he had never felt before over took him. He involuntarily keeled over at the midsection and clenched his stomach. His body began to shake as the eruptions in his belly grew more violent and immediate. His eyes became blurry and unfocused while his muscles felt like rubber bands. When another severe eruption in his center point began again, Clark leaned forward, part from not being able to hold him self up, and partly from an involuntary thrust forward by his reflexes. Then he felt it over taking him. The rumble in his mid section was moving up to his chest through his windpipe. He gasped, but no air came. The rumbling continued up his esophagus until it reached the back of his throat and his very lungs began to hurt. Then the salty taste began to be replaced by a vile, acid feeling, thick substance that seemed to fill his mouth. There was no time to hold it back as his jaw opened wide with out so much as a thought, and the green and retched smelling, thick liquid spat from his mouth. The head of the column of spew made a thud sound as it hit the porcelain next to the shower's drain. The vomit continued for nearly twenty seconds when it stopped as quickly as it started.
Clark slumped against the side of the tub again as the same rumbling in his belly began again. He leaned forward again as he though to himself, "So this is what throwing up feels like." After a few more seconds of violent hurling, he was able to regain control of himself and he sat gently on the now hot bottom of the tub. Being sick had made him weak, but he did feel a little better getting the poison out of his system. He rubbed his face with his hands. "Vomiting is not good," he thought.
The skin on his body was becoming its normal fleshy tone again when Clark inspected himself. It would appear that he had made it through another crisis; only this one had left him completely drained. All he wanted to do was curl up in bed and take a long nap. He smiled at himself thinking that he had averted sure death again, but the question still remained, "What was that stuff in the water and why would it have the same reaction on me as the meteor fragments?" A new set of questions seemed to have unfolded, and Clark wondered if the mystery of Lex's accident and the contaminated Gotham water were related.
One flight below, Bruce stood before the large portrait of his parents over the roaring fire he had started with the gas igniter. He stared at the faces of the two people he had thought were his life and had been taken away from him so violently. He made no effort to move or get comfortable; all he could do was to watch them as motionlessly as they were watching him.
"Bruce," Lana's voice invaded the darkness of his mind as she entered the room. "Bruce, are you okay?"
He turned his attention away from the painting and looked at her with vacant eyes.
She placed here warm hand on his cheek. "Alfred asked me to check on you, Bruce. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he said turning away.
"Oh," Lana sighed. "I guess it's a natural reaction for someone to tense up and turn away when they are asked that question."
"Please don't analyze me, Lana," he grunted. "I said I was fine."
"Okay," she said, wrapping herself in her shawl. "I just want you to know that I am here for you."
Bruce remained silent as he glanced at her.
"I know what is feels like to watch helplessly as people you care about are hurt or killed," she continued in her nervous stance. "I also know what it's like to want to be able to do something and react. You did that, Bruce, and now you are afraid that you might have gone too far."
"Or maybe not far enough," he sighed.
"What are you saying, Bruce?"
"I'm saying that I may have lost control when I thought that guy shot Clark, and I overreacted when I saw you being affected by it, but," Bruce stopped himself mid sentence.
"But what, Bruce?" She touched his arm. "Are you saying you wanted to kill that man?"
Bruce raised his head in an anguished fashion. "I'm saying that it felt good to be able to finally do something about avenging for the harm done to someone. I'm saying that feeling that man's flesh rip under the pounding of my fist felt good and rewarding," he looked at his bloody knuckles.
"You're saying that if I had not stopped you, you could have killed that man." Lana finished his thought.
"Not could have, " he returned with a gentle stare into her eyes. "I would have, Lana."
Lana turned away with a hurt expression.
"You know where these feelings are coming from better than most people, Lana," Bruce took a gentle hold of her shoulders from behind. "You know what it is like to have wanted to have acted differently when your parents were killed and done something to save them or do those things to save other people."
"I know what it is like. I stood by and watched my parents die under the meteor rocks. I was just thinking that I wish there were some way that I could have warned them to move, or have stopped the shower even at three years old," she spoke as tears rolled down her face. "But it doesn't mean I am going to spend every waking moment out in my front yard with a metal baseball bat hoping to ward off the next possible rock from hitting anyone."
"Of course not, Lana," he turned her around to face him. "But crimes happen every minute of ever day, especially here, in Gotham. Maybe it's time that someone with enough training and energy and anger behind his motives stepped forward and did something about it. Someone with enough money to back up his punch."
"That is not a quest, Bruce," she grasped his arms. "It's a suicide pact with your past. You are one man. You can't wage a war on crime by yourself. Those things only happen on television or in comic books. No one can save the world, alone."
"How will we ever know if no one tries?" He sneered.
"But not you, Bruce," she insisted. "You are not Tony Stark, you can't be some type of millionaire vigilante trying to right the wrongs of the world. Those people are not real."
"Please Bruce," she continued. "Don't put your own life at risk just because it felt good to defend yourself one time. Just because you were able to take down one man is no reason to think you can do it over and over again."
He turned away and walked back to the fireplace.
"Are you hearing me, Bruce?"
"Do you ever feel like there is someone else inside of you calling to come out?" He asked.
"Like voices in your head?" she questioned back.
"No," he turned back with a haunted look. "Like the real you that you were meant to become wanting to come to the surface."
Lana gave him a puzzled look.
Bruce could tell that he was loosing her, but he needed to voice his thoughts, if not for her, then for his own sanity. He returned his gaze to the flames again and crouched down to be closer to its intensity. "He's in there, Lana," he spoke in a very low tone. "He calls to me every night, wanting to come out."
"Bruce," she tried to caution. "You're scaring me a little with this type of talk."
He ignored her, for his mind was engrossed by his own thoughts. His sight was set deep into the flames. "It's like this driving force that has been guiding me since the day my parents died. It is the sound of my every thought that has lead me through the courses of my life from my training with criminal law, to my interest in the martial arts and eastern philosophies." He paused for a moment. "The darkness inside of me calls out to me. I can barely sleep anymore. All I do is spend my time here, watching my parents eyes and trying to figure out what it was that they instilled in me that would make me want to avenge the evils of the world. Then I train for hours at a time to hone my physical abilities to their peak performance. A few days a week I make an appearance or two as Bruce Wayne to show the world the play inside the boy, but all the while the dark calls."
Lana sat on the arm of the sofa as she continued to listen. Bruce was both frightening and fascinating at the same time, and she would not, or perhaps could not, pull herself away from the pain that was engulfing the two of them.
"I gave it a name," he said almost mockingly over his shoulder. "Most people have that dark place within themselves where they can disappear, but my dark place comes to me and it has become a part of my every living moment; both awake and sleeping. It has become so over powering that I have decided to accept it and give it a name."
"What." Lana asked hesitantly. "What do you call it?"
He sat silent for a moment.
"Bruce?" She questioned after a few seconds. "What do you call the dark place?"
A small smile came across his handsome lips as he thought of his darkness. It had become more than a place inside of Bruce, but it had become his friend, his brother and his soul mate.
"Are you going to tell me, Bruce?" Lana questioned with caution.
He pulled a small key charm from his inner suit jacket pocket. The small silver object was shaped like the silhouette of a bat. "I named it after something my mother once told me," he said softly admiring the object in his hand where Lana could not see it. "She told me that even when the world might be at its darkest, and I had lost sight of her, that all I needed to do was remember that not all creatures of the world relied on their sight for the obvious. Sometimes they trust in the feelings around them, or their special senses. She told me on my first day of school that even though I was out of her sight, that I needed to sense her love for me and know that she was never very far away. To feel for her for her presence in the universe."
"Did you feel it?" Lana asked. "Did you feel her presence?"
"Yes," his eyes became even more haunting. "I felt it right up to the very moment she was killed. I felt her presence leave her body as I held her hand on the bloody sidewalk that night."
"I'm sorry, Bruce," she lowered her head in grief.
"I was so young and innocent," he almost smiled. "At first I thought it might have had something to do with her pearl necklace. She loved that piece of jewelry so much. My father had given it to her on the night I was born, and she said it was an outward show of her love for both of us," Bruce wiped a hand across his face. "When she first died, and I felt her presence leave her body and me, my nine year old mind rationed out that the pearls had something to do with it. So I worked diligently collecting as many of the small white pearls I could find on the wet and stained concrete. When I had a hand full, I raced back to her side and I held my hand of pearls against her motionless chest and I whispered in her ear that I had collected her love again, and she could come back, but she didn't come back, Lana."
Lana slumped into a seat at the edge of the sofa and wiped away her own tears.
"I held onto those pearls for a very long time after that," Bruce continued as the vacant stare came back to his eyes. "I would take them out of the small matchbox I had placed them in with the small charm she gave me on my first day of school that symbolized our special radar we had for each other. I would climb into my parent's bed every night crying myself to sleep, praying to God that I would feel her presence again, but I never did."
Lana continued to listen to his sad story as she wiped away a few more tears with her shawl.
"I tried for months, Lana," he spoke again after a few seconds of silence. "I kept crying myself to sleep day after day until there were no more tears to shed. I determined that she was not ever coming back, and I resigned myself to that fact and set my young sight on a future alone."
"Is that when the dark place started talking to you?" Lana asked.
He had to smile as he heard her gentle voice speak of it as if it were an actual person. "It was a few years before I noticed that the place vacated by the presence of my parents was filed by a consuming void. I was at boarding school in England the first time I remember feeling the darkness. It was not warm and comforting like her, but it was consuming and filling. It blocked the pain in my heart for the first time in my life, and I seemed to have a whole new focus for my mind, my body, and my life. It began to lead the boy that was Bruce Wayne until he became as consumed and decisive as the darkness. It was years later when I realized that this was my new mother, my new father, and the new me. So I named it after the name my mother gave the small charm on my first full day away from her."
Lana waited again for him to say the name, but he was not forthcoming, so she decided to leave the matter alone and tried to enjoy the comfort Bruce seemed to find from looking at the small silver object in his hand.
His words were silent, but his mind continued with his memories. He held the charm close to his face as me called out the name in his mind. "I call the darkness Batman." He thought. The cute pet name his mother had for him as a child became his soul.
After several moments of silence, Bruce stood up straight and walked over to the sofa. He sat next to Lana and took her hand in his.
"Bruce," she began.
He held her hand slightly firmer. "Sit with me, Lana," he spoke softly. "Just sit with me."
Lana looked into his big, sad eyes. She placed her free hand on his shoulder and rested her head against it. The two of them sat in the silence as the wood crackled in the fireplace a few feet away.
The smoke that had been coming in from under the door in trickles had increased to small billowing clouds streaming through all the cracks to Morgan Edge's tiny office where Chloe and Salina were now locked. Chloe tried frantically to block the smoke by jamming pieces of cloth and papers she found around the room into the cracks. She was risking tucking her shawl over the top slit of the door when she looked over at the desk to see Salina sitting silent and sullen.
"I'm going to need a little help here," she called out. "If we are going to get out of here alive we need to work as a team."
Salina looked up with sad eyes. "What's the point, Chloe?" she sulked. "Every time we try to bring ourselves up in this world, something happens to bring us back down."
Chloe finished with the task and turned back to her taking a deep breath of the already thinning air. "Yeah, and becoming a crispy critter would be a real downer for me. too," she huffed. "But I have just had the biggest story of the century dropped in my lap tonight and there is no way I am going to die before I get to my lap top."
"Don't you get it, blondie?" Salina yelled spreading her arms. "It's too late. Morgan told us his whole story about killing Lex Luthor and his reasons behind it because he didn't intend for us to live through the night. He knew that this building was going to burn with us in it, so he didn't even bother to finish us off before he left."
"Thus giving us a chance to escape," Chloe pointed out with her own arms spread out. "Haven't you ever seen a James Bond movie, or even Austin Powers? The villain always makes the mistake of leaving the hero hanging in some dire situation in which the hero always escapes."
"I'm sorry, Chloe," Salina huffed. "I'm not some Bond girl, and Morgan is no Mr. Evil,"
"That's Doctor Evil," Chloe half-joked while tapping on the panel walls looking for a way out. "He didn't spend four years in evil doctor's school to be called mister."
"How can you joke at a time like this?" Salina sighed.
"Because it's a whole ton better than thinking of how bad off we really are," Chloe replied. "Besides, why are you sulking over an old guy like Edge who would treat you like dirt and then leave you to die?"
"Because Morgan was all I had in this world, Chloe," Salina said, hanging her head low. "He took me off the streets where I was turning tricks, and gave me three squares and a warm place to rest my head every night."
"You were his mistress, Salina," Chloe stopped what she was doing and turned to her new young friend. "You were some cute toy that he picked up off the streets and kept around his neck until he was tired of you and tossed you aside."
"He loved me," Salina protested.
"He used you," Chloe retorted. "My God, girl, we were here three minutes when he placed you on Clark's lap and pretty much told him to have his way."
"He was being nice," she said in a low tone.
"He was being your pimp daddy," Chloe returned.
"Fine," a tear rolled down Salina's face. "Think whatever you want, because it doesn't matter. He's gone, it's over, and we are going to die."
"Not if I can help it, little girl," Chloe shook her finger at her. "I've been hanging around Clark Kent long enough to know that there is a way out of just about everything."
"And where is Clark?" Salina asked.
"He's busy," Chloe said with an uncertain voice.
"He went chasing after a crazy man with a gun like the rest of your friends," Salina reminded her. "He's most likely dead too."
Chloe stopped her frantic search to look at Salina with a scared daze in her eyes.
"Face it, Chloe," Salina continued. "We are trapped in here and no one is coming for us, or even knows where to look if they did."
Chloe walked over to her and grabbed her shoulders. "First off," she said with a sneer. "You don't know anything about my friends. Clark doesn't die, and if there is at all a way for him to be here, then he will find us. And secondly, I do not give up so easily. You had a hard life and I am sorry, Salina, I really am, but there is no reason to give up the journey when the road takes on a few potholes. You're parent's didn't understand? Well, join the club little girl, because my own mother walked out on me when I was five years old. No note, no goodbyes, and for sure, there were no 'I love you.' So please stop sitting here on your tail feeling sorry for yourself, and do something to help get us out of here."
Salina looked into her deep blue eyes. She could see that a small piece of the hurt that was inside her own soul was also in Chloe's. She no longer felt she had a reason or a desire to live, but Chloe did and she knew that her new friend would not leave without her.
Chloe's stare was interrupted as she began to cough. The smoke was quickly beginning to fill the room, and Salina knew she had to act soon.
Jumping off the desk, Salina began pushing it towards the wall. "Help me push this over to that corner," she tilted her head towards the right side where the two tall file cabinets were tucked up against the corner.
Chloe did as she was asked with a wheeze. "Why are we doing this?" She asked.
Salina grunted as the two young girls maneuvered the heavy metal desk over by three feet. "Up behind those file boxes on the cabinets is an air vent. I think it's big enough that we can fit through."
Chloe jumped on the desk first and began pushing the boxes off onto the floor. Her face lit up when she saw it; a twenty-inch by twenty-inch air intake vent. "It's here," she exclaimed with joy.
Salina handed her a letter opener. "Pry it open with this,"
Chloe was choking when she reached for the metal blade. The smoke was much worse in such a high corner, and it was flowing right to the now exposed vent.
"Hurry," Salina warned looking back at the door where she could see the flicking of the flames just outside of it through the crack at the bottom.
It took two of the longest seconds Chloe had ever spent, but she removed the first of two screws. She went to unscrew the second bolt, but instead decided to pull at the crate and yanked the second screw out of the dry wall. "I got it!" She tried to yell, but lost her breath.
Salina was up on the desk at that point and pushing her. "Go," she was screaming.
Chloe looked back with her eyes watering up from the smoke. "You lead the way. You know this club better than I do."
Salina had to smile as she choked back a cough. "You don't trust me to follow, do you?"
Chloe jumped up onto the file cabinet a few inches out of the way and held out her hand with a smile. "Friends don't follow or lead," she said. "They go together."
Salina smiled back and took her hand. She then slipped her slender form into the vent and began to work her way through the maze.
Chloe readied herself to follow and took one look back. Her shawl over the door was beginning to burn up, and the flames were making their way into the room. She took a quick gulp of the smoky air and climbed into the shaft a few feet behind Salina.
When Clark came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a large towel after showering himself off, he found a new pair of silk pajamas with his clean underwear and a pair of socks laid out on the bed. Feeling better but still very tired, Clark quickly put the cloths on before Alfred, who had promised to come back, arrived. After getting dressed he slipped into the bed and heard a gentle knocking at the door.
"Come in," he called.
The door opened slowly and in stepped Alfred with a tray in his hands. "Are you feeling better, Master Clark?"
Clark smiled weakly up at him. "Yeah, I think washing off the stuff and getting most of it out of my system must have helped.
"Indeed," Alfred gave him a grin as he gingerly placed the tray with the legs folded down over Clark's lap. "Doctor Thompkins was unable to come tonight. She is working at the hospital tending a patient, but said to call if we should require her assistance before morning."
"I don't think that will be necessary," Clark grunted slightly as he nuzzled his back into the thick pillows to sit up. "I'm feeling much better. I just need to sleep and let the rest of the junk work through my system."
"Very well," Alfred sat next to him on the bed. He poured some warm water from a teapot into a cup on the tray. "In the mean time, this gentle blend of herb teas should help to settle your stomach."
Clark looked in the cup when Alfred handed it to him. "More green stuff," he grimaced handing the cup back. "Thanks for the offer, Alfred, but I've spent the last half hour watching green stuff come out of my body, and I don't think I could handle any more going in."
"Of course," Alfred took the cup and placed it back on the tray and slipped the tray off his lap onto the nightstand. "Perhaps I shall leave this here for the night, should you be more receptive during the remainder of the evening."
"Thanks, Alfred," Clark turned to see his caretaker in the dim light. "You are a great host, but I just need to sleep this stuff off for now."
"I understand," Alfred placed his hand on Clark's forehead. "It would appear that your fever has diminished considerably. I do believe you will be well by morning."
"Has anyone heard from Chloe?" Clark asked.
"No," Alfred replied pulling something from the tray. "Now that you are better and the master seems to have settled in for the evening, I shall take a jaunt out to the city and retrieve our curious friend."
Clark grinned at the description of Chloe.
Alfred made his way back to the bed and rested a small dishtowel on Clark's lap. "I took the liberty of retrieving your wallet from the dinner jacket and dried the items off as best as I could with this towel."
Clark flipped the top layer of cloth to find the few things he owned spaced neatly on the towel. Including his school card, library card, license, and a few pictures, along with the four dollars and thirteen cents he now had to his name.
Alfred gently picked up the three pictures and looked at them. "You have a very handsome family, Master Clark," he said holding up the picture of Clark and his folks. "They appear to be very much caring of you."
"Ma and Pa are the greatest," Clark smiled with weary eyes. "Although my Dad would get a real hoot out of seeing me in this set up."
"Indeed," Alfred raised an eyebrow. "These would be your friends?" he then held up a picture of Clark, Chloe, Lana, and Pete taken at the Talon a few months earlier.
"Yeah," Clark yawned with a gentle nod. "You know Chloe and Lana, and the guy is Pete Ross. We've been friends since I can remember. He's away at youth camp right now."
Alfred looked at the third picture, but did not show it to Clark. Clark noticed that it seemed to make Alfred slightly uncomfortable.
"What is it?" Clark reached out his hand and took the small picture. He had forgotten he had it, and the emotions flooded his tired mind as he looked on the two smiling faces in the portrait.
"I have seen Mr. Luthor's picture before," Alfred said softly as Clark stared at the card. "He was rather strikingly handsome."
"Yeah," Clark whispered. "He was also a great guy."
Alfred waited for a few minutes as Clark continued to look at the picture, all the while struggling to keep his eyes open.
"He looked happy," Alfred finally commented.
"He was," Clark gave a weary smile. "My mother took this picture of us last Christmas morning. He spent the night at my house and after only a few hours of sleep, he wiped the floor with me playing computer games. We just had a great time being together and he really enjoyed a down home Christmas breakfast with my folks and me. My Mom even surprised him with a home made fruitcake of his own for Christmas."
"Mister Luthor enjoyed being with your family, I take it?" Alfred asked.
"Lex said that us Kents were like the family he always wanted but never had with his father," Clark explained. "He and my Dad never really got along, but I tried to invite Lex out to the farm as often as I could get away with. He was the big brother I never had."
Alfred noticed as Clark turned his head away slightly when a tear began to roll down his face.
Alfred placed his hand over Clark's. "You miss him dearly, don't you?"
"I keep screwing up, Alfred," Clark sniffed. "I came here to try and solve the mystery of what really happened to him, and all I do is lounge around this mansion and then almost get myself killed. Lex is gone and I can't even bring him back."
"The dead are not required to come back, Master Clark," Alfred said with a puzzled look.
Clark was tired and drawn when he looked into Alfred's eyes. "I heard his voice on the phone, Alfred," Clark said softly. "Three weeks after he died, I heard his voice asking me for help, and I have not been able to do a thing to help him since."
The wheels in Alfred's mind were now turning. "You believe your friend Lex to be alive?"
Clark pushed his head deeper into the pillows. "I'm not sure," he groaned. "That's why I have to find out what really happened to him. If he is alive, then Lex is counting on me."
Alfred gathered up the belongings on Clark's lap and wrapped them up in the towel again. He walked them over to the dresser a few feet away and placed them on top of it. "I believe if Mister Luthor is alive, then he has not chosen a more suitable friend to place his fate in, Master Clark."
He turned back towards the bed. "I do believe that regardless of his where abouts in this life, or the hereafter, you shall find him."
Clark laid quietly in the bed with the picture of he and Lex still in his grasp. Taking a few steps closer, Alfred could see that the young man had drifted off to sleep and was no longer able to hear his reassurances.
He approached the bed and pulled the blankets up closer to Clark's chest as Clark moaned slightly dropping the picture on the sheets. He may have been better, but Alfred knew that Clark's allergic reaction to the water was still bothering him. He patted the younger man's head lightly as his free hand reached for the portrait. He took a long look at the two happy young men and smiled as he remembered his own teen years. Then he thought of how there were no pictures of Bruce with a genuine smile in his teenaged photos. A gentle sigh released from Alfred's lips as he tenderly placed the picture on the nightstand and leaned it against the teapot. He knew that these smiling faces would be the first things that Clark would want to see in the morning.
"Sleep well, Master Clark," Alfred spoke softly, turning off the light on the nightstand. "Your journey continues yet another day."
The phone was ringing by the time Alfred made his way to the foyer of the mansion. "Wayne residence," he spoke strongly. "No sir, Mr. Wayne has retired for the evening and Mr. Edge is not here. I believe the master last saw him at the club earlier tonight."
Alfred paused on the other end as the voice told him something.
"A fire?" he repeated and paused. Then a look of fear came over his face as he gasped. "Oh, dear, no."
The tunnel that he seemed to be trapped in was endless for Pete Ross as he struggled to fight his way back to consciousness. After what seemed like forever, he finally found his way back to the waking world. A matter, he thought, he was very sure he wanted, until the brutal headache became more prominent in his life.
By the time he opened his eyes, Pete could barely focus them at all. The whole world around him was still dark, not because of his closed eyes, but because he was in a dark place. Pete struggled to remember where he was, and it hit him almost as hard as the headache did. He was in the Luthor Corps building in Metropolis, inside Lionel Luthor's inner sanctum. He was in the private living quarters off of Lionel's office. It was all coming back to him like the throbbing pain in his temple.
Pete had heard a sound in the closet, and when he looked in, something solid came crashing down on his head. There was someone in the closet with him, and he had been attacked. The question was, was his attacker still in the dark enclosure with him or not?
Reaching slowly for his temple, as not to alarm his assailant, Pete could feel a warm liquid running down the side of his head. He slowly lowered his hand to his mouth and touched his finger to his tongue. The shock startled him as he realized that this was blood, and judging from the pain, it was his blood.
Then he heard a noise a few inches away. Something or someone was moving just behind his head. His attacker was still there.
Slowly he placed his palms firmly against the floor and lifted his ailing body with great ease. The attacker seemed to cower more without attempting to strike again.
"It's okay," Pete said softly against the throbbing sounds of his own voice echoing in his ear. "I'm not going to hurt you."
He could see a leg wearing a pajama bottom through the shadows of the closet, lit from the dim light in the room beyond.
"I'm Pete Ross," he continued to speak firmly in simple and soft words. "I think I can help you. Please don't be afraid."
The leg pulled itself tightly into the shadow.
"I want to help you," Pete repeated. "Will you let me help you?"
The shadow whimpered.
"Let me help you," Pete sat up and held his hand out into the darkness. "Take my hand and I'll take you somewhere safe."
Pete waited a few seconds and was startled when he felt a hand slip into his. He fought his reaction to pull back, but held tightly to the hand. "That's right," he smiled which only made the pressure to his temple throb all the more. "I'll take you somewhere safe,"
The figure began to emerge from the shadow as Pete continued to smile. "That's right," he said beaming at his own achievement. "Come with me," and then his eyes jumped opened and his jaw drop as he saw who it was in the dark, "Mister Luthor?"
A very frightened Lionel Luthor wearing pajamas and holding a baseball bat emerged from the cloakroom. Pete pulled on his hand as the older Luthor followed, somewhat reluctantly.
"Mr. Luthor?" Pete gasped again. "What are you doing hiding in your closet?"
"Lex is dead," Lionel stammered. "All the Luthors are dying, and death is looking for me."
Pete watched in major confusion as Lionel huddled himself again against the wall as the baseball bat with a trickle of blood on it dropped at his side.
Elsewhere in the building, the storage closet was opened quickly and Lex Luthor was tossed carelessly to the floor with a yelp of pain from being man handled. One of the two men entered the small, dimly lit enclosure with a sour look on his face.
"You're more trouble than you are worth, Lex," Randolph growled standing over his charge. "It's bad enough someone broke into the building, but you have to go and assault them. Do you realize you might have killed a man?"
Lex didn't say a word. He curled himself up as best as he could on the floor next to the mop bucket with his two cast covered limbs making it difficult.
"You are such a waist, Luthor," Randolph huffed dropped the bloody wooden horse next to him. "Now try and stay silent in here while I go clean up your mess, and the nurse will be in a few minutes with your dream world medication. I just hope this time you stay there."
Lex reached quickly for the horse as Randolph stormed out, slamming the door behind him self. Lex held to his new security blanket with dear life and rubbed it against his face. The small trail of blood left by Pete was now across his left cheek.
"What was that all about?" A booming voice interrupted the silence.
Lex looked up at the gloating face of Clark looming over him.
"Geesh, Lex," Clark sighed with frustration. "Someone comes to visit you and you attack them."
"I thought it was the nurse with more drugs," Lex defended himself. "You told me it was the nurse."
"I'm a figment of your whacked out mind, Lex," Clark reminded him. "Why would you listen to me? That guy could have been your savior."
"Don't you think I know that?" Lex said looking up with blood shot eyes.
"Well, I think that whoever that was back there may have been your last chance," the illusion said. "Now that your old man knows how easy it is to get you, he is going to keep you under lock and key with a higher level of security."
The fake Clark walked over to the door as if in thought and then turned back. "What if that guy you hit was your friend Clark?" He grinned widely. "What if you killed him, Lex? What if you killed your only chance of escape?"
"No, don't say that!" Lex screamed covering his ears. "I don't want you here anymore. Just go away."
Clark crouched down in front of Lex. "You know I can't do that Lex. I'm a part of you remember?"
"I don't want you," Lex said as he thought he would loose his mind if he had to deal with this hologram again. "Please, go away."
Clark stood up again and looked down at him. "Okay Lex, have it your way, but after the first few weeks of your father keeping you locked away, you'll be begging for me to come back."
"No," Lex shook his head vigorously. "Just go away and stay gone."
"Alright," Clark shrugged his shoulders. "But I'll be back soon enough." He took one last look down at Lex. "Too bad you couldn't make a run for it when you had your chance a few days ago. With that cast on, you are as helpless as a kitten."
With his final words said, the illusion of Clark Kent disappeared into the darkness of the room. It was then that Lex realized that he was all alone, but helpless. He stared down at the cast on his right leg with contempt.
"I need to get out of here," he thought out loud. "I may have killed Clark and there's no one else who would save me. I need to save myself."
He looked around his small confines and came to a conclusion. The cast was stopping him from running, so it would have to go. His only question was how.
When his hand came across the wooden horse on his lap, Lex knew he had found his tool. Perhaps it was karma or fate that allowed him to make the one request of his father to bring him the treasured gift from his only real friend, but Lex knew that one way or another, Clark would help him make his escape.
Picking up the solid wood object as high as his good right arm would allow for him to raise it over the cast with the sharper hind side of the horse facing down, Lex thrust the toy as hard as he could down on the cast. The sudden strike echoed pain through his body and he lurched forward with agony. After a few seconds of rest, he leaned back on the wall and looked at the tiny cracks he had begun to make in the plaster. He realized that his plan was working, and he had to continue trying. His hand was shaky the second time he raised the horse, but he was determined to free himself of the cast prison tonight. So mustering up all his resolve, he allowed his arm to thunder down again with the tool making another direct hit on the cast. It actually began to splinter and small pieces flew in every direction as a large divide began to form down the center. The jolt was not as shocking a second time, but the pain became unbearable. Yet, still Lex grit his teeth and held the horse over his head again. The third strike sent such great shards of pain up his leg into his very skull that he felt the world beginning to go black for a moment, but Lex fought the urge to pass out and forced himself conscious.
He took several deep breaths as tears from the pain escaped his eyes, but after a twenty second delay, Lex picked up the tattered and bruised horse and held it over his head. For the first time in his life that he could remember, Lex found himself praying to a God he was not even sure he believed in. He closed his eyes tightly and with a loud scream, he brought the striking tool down with the greatest amount of force he could work up. The anguishing act continued for several more minutes as he promised himself to be released from the plaster prison that very night.
Clark had been asleep only several minutes when he began to cough and his sudden choking attack woke him from his slumber. His eyes open widely as he realized he could not take another gulp of air. Sitting up sharply, he forced himself to breathe again with a loud cough that cleared his throat. When he removed his hand, he saw that it was cover by his rich dark red blood. He turned quickly and saw that the fluid also covered his pillow and the entire front of his pajamas were sprinkled red.
"Oh, my God," he gasped tossing off the blankets. He placed his sock covered feet on the cool floor and jumped out of bed and started to walk toward the bathroom. He had not walked three feet when a sharp pain came to his right side and Clark doubled over in the worst pain he had ever felt. He dropped to the floor with a thud and rolled up in the fetal position. Then came the cold sweat and the violent shakes.
"Dear God," Clark moaned. "It's in my system. The pollutant is in my blood stream." He jerked as he fought off another attack of the sharp pain. He gasped for air as he felt more blood coming up from his lungs.
"Help me, Lord," he cried in his head, since he could no longer work up enough of a breath to speak. "Help me."
The sharp pain subsided for a moment, but the shakes over took Clark as he struggled to remain conscious. Trying to let out even the smallest of cries became an impossible task for him as he pulled his knees up close to his chest. After only a few seconds of relief, he could feel another sharp pain coming on, this time it was coming from his left side. Clark clenched at the bedspread he had unintentionally pulled along with him as he got out of the bed. He nuzzled the fabric against his chest as it was being pulled from the mattress and released a silent scream into it.
The world was no longer one of colors for Clark as everything went black and he gave into the darkness that engulfed him.
Alfred made a solemn entrance into the study to find Bruce and Lana sitting silently before the fire. They were looking deep into each other's eyes as their lips moved closer, and it was then that Alfred chose to clear his throat to make his presence known.
Bruce looked up with a startled stare at his faithful servant. "What is it, Alfred? Is Clark alright?"
Alfred nodded. "I have just received an unsettling phone call," he took a deep breath as he continued. "It would appear that there is a fire raging out of control at the 'Edge' night club."
"Oh, my God," Lana jumped forward on the sofa. "Have you heard from Chloe yet?"
"That would be the problem, Miss Lana," Alfred continued. "Miss Chloe and Morgan Edge seemed to be among the missing."
Lana covered her mouth with her hands. "Oh, my God, no."
Bruce wrapped his arms around her. "Chloe is missing, Lana," he reminded her. "No one is saying she is in that building."
"We have to do something, Bruce," Lana said to him with pleading eyes.
"Okay," Bruce agreed jumping up. "We'll take the VMW into town and see if we can find her ourselves."
"Clark would want to know," she told them standing up next to Bruce.
"I shall inform the young sir and we shall meet you at the club should he be feeling well enough to travel," Alfred volunteered.
Bruce took Lana's hand. "Come on, I'll drive."
With a dart, the two of them ran for the door as Alfred made his way for the stairwell.
"Owe," Chloe pulled her hand back away from the tin tunnel she and Salina were climbing through. "The air ducts are getting warmer and boarder lining on hot."
"I know," Salina looked back. "But this is the only way out Chloe," she reminded. "We have to get across the seating floor before we make it to the air vent over the doorway."
"Then let's hurry," Chloe said. "There's no telling how long the structural integrity of the building will hold up under this type of heat."
Salina shook her head as she continued her crawl. It was then they felt the duct begin to shake loose from it's fitting that held it to the inner ceiling over the tiles. With out warning, the section that Salina was reaching gave way and broke through the roof of the club's main floor and she fell the fifteen feet to the floor below.
Chloe screamed as she looked down at her friend who lay motionless on the floor with flames all around her. She inadvertently reached out and found that her section was giving way on her end and tilted down. She tried with all her might, but there was nothing for her to grab onto. She slid out of the duct and hit the floor below her by landing on her shoulder next to Salina with such a great force that she fell unconscious the moment she reached the ground.
The flames were closing in, as the two women lay helpless in the debris that was once the most popular comedy club in Gotham City.
When Alfred did not receive a reply after several knocks on Clark's door, he opened the door and stepped in. He looked over at the bed to find that it was emptied. Following the short trail of bed covers, he saw Clark curled up in a ball on the floor. He was shaking violently and a stream of blood seemed to be trickling out of his mouth.
He rushed to the young man's side and kneeled next to him. "Master Clark," Alfred said touching his soaked head. "Are you okay?"
Clark darted his eyes open and looked up with horror. "It's," he stammered. "It's in my blood stream," he blinked, choking back another blood cloth. "The poison is in my blood."
Alfred reached down and pulled the blankets around him tightly. "I shall call the doctor at once," Alfred announced.
"No," Clark grabbed Alfred's wrist so hard, that Alfred gasped in pain. "It won't help," He stammered out. "Just stay with me," a tear rolled down his cheek. "Please don't leave me."
Alfred wrapped his arms around the man who was still a boy as best as he could and held tightly. "Of course, Master Clark," he tried to smile. "You shall not be alone."
Clark allowed his head to tilt up and he saw where the teapot and tray had fallen off the nightstand and made a mess only a few inches from his head. He groaned as another round of pain began to strike, and in the corner of his blurred vision, he saw a picture had fallen off the stand and propped it self against the bottom frame of the table. The picture was of Clark and Lex smiling on a happy Christmas morning. Clark closed his eyes tight as he began to scream from the pain.
TO BE CONTINUED
***Notes***
It's Monday and more good reviews from last week. Thank you all so much. My days are so hectic with Christmas so close, but I am determined to keep these chapters coming until I have reached the end. (At this point in time, that should be by chapter twenty, but don't hold me to that as I am still writing nineteen as we speak.) So let's see if there are any questions to answer. (I hope you guys don't think my doing this every week is pompous, but I like to thank everyone personally and answer any questions I can.)
To Merrie: Thanks again for the uplifting comments, and never gets tired when hearing how much you like the story. Thanks.
To DarkAngel: Thanks again and I do like cliffhangers.
To Robyn: Welcome back and thanks. I like the irony of Lex attacking his savior.
MitchPell: I hope Pete's revelation was not too disappointing, but you know I couldn't make it that easy. But don't count Pete out just yet, because he may hold a very large piece of the puzzle in the next few chapters. Chloe faces the heat next chapter, and I hope you like that twist too. Lionel is holding Lex for selfish motives. No one kills a Luthor on his watch. Lex would never listen to his father and go into hiding on his own, so Lionel feels this is his only choice while Lex is in no shape to say no. Thanks for reading and keeping me in line. I can sometimes forget that what is clear in my head may not be coming across so well on paper, so thank you for the questions.
To LaCasta: Thank you for reading and commenting. I was a little apprehensive when I first got the idea between the meteor fragments and the Gotham freaks, but Birds of Prey also made a close comparison on the show (After my original thought.) so I figured it would work after all. As for Selina and Salina, I am almost sure you are right, but when spell check originally corrected it, I didn't even think twice, and for now I am just going to go with Salina until I can one day go back and correct all the chapters. Thank you for pointing that out.
To Brennan: Thank you so much for your review and as a long time reader of DC comics, I too agree that there is a whole other sandbox to play in with our Smallville characters. I am also learning to like my Bruce Wayne a little too. I wasn't sure where I would take him, but I think I've done a few interesting things. Please let me know what you think.
Thank you all again and please keeping reviewing (Nicely, please.) as we bring this story to its conclusion in the next month.
Best Wishes and Gob Bless
Phaze