PART FIVE

"What do you think?" Merrick asked.

Hands on her hips, Chloe studied her surroundings. The small warehouse was first on Merrick's list of possible training spots. It was miles away from…well, pretty much anything. There was plenty of floor space. And the windows were up high. So no-one just passing by could take a casual look inside and see anything…interesting.

Chloe shrugged. "I'm just the lowly student, remember? So you'd know better than me. But shouldn't we take a look at the other places first?"

"No, this perfect," Merrick assured her. "I have a good feeling about this place."

"Well, good," Chloe said. Hands on her hips, Chloe gave her mentor a hopeful. "So, now that we've found our classroom, you can give me a lesson in Immortals 101."

Merrick gave her a puzzled look. "Pardon?"

"Oh, come on. Tell me something about myself," Chloe continued. "You know. All the stuff you've been holding back because you think it will freak me out." She held her arms out at her sides. "But don't worry. I live in the Weird Capital of the Midwest. I'm more used to the strange and bizarre than you would believe. So, whatever you have to tell, I can take."

"I'm sure you can," Merrick said. "But the taking would be easier in small doses. Becoming Immortal is enough of a shock in itself. The rest can wait."

Chloe sighed. "I knew you were going to say that. But you don't understand. I have this special condition. Curiosity could literally kill me."

"Which explains your aspirations to snoop professionally," Merrick chuckled.

Again, Chloe glared. She figured her time spent with Merrick was going to hone that particular skill to a razor's edge.

"Tsk, tsk," Merrick said. Looking wistful, he shook his head. "That's what's wrong with the young. They don't truly learn the virtue of patience until they're at least 70 or 80." His wistful frown melted into a grin. "We have plenty of time, Chloe. You will learn all you need to know long before your 'condition' becomes fatal. Is there name for that by the way? I might want to look it up."

Exhaling another sigh, Chloe let her shoulders droop in disappointed. And, while she didn't like to resort to such measures, she let her lips to extend into a modest pout.

Merrick stared at her for a moment before he burst into laughter. "You're father lets you get away with murder, doesn't he?"

"Well, maybe not murder." Chloe gave him an optimistic glance. "Is it working on you?"

Merrick pretended to think for a moment. "No, not really. But points for effort."

This time, Chloe's pout was real.

"Although, I will tell you one thing."

She allowed herself a cautious smile. "Really?"

"Don't get too excited. It's just a little piece of advice. Something I should have told you in the beginning." And his smile was still there. But the humor that usually lit his silver-gray eyes faded away. "Holy ground."

Chloe frowned. Of all the things she'd expected him to say… "Huh?"

"Immortals can't fight on holy ground. It's one of the Rules. If you sense another Immortal nearby, if you feel the buzz and aren't one hundred percent sure it's me, don't walk. You run to the nearest church. Or synagogue. Or Indian burial ground. Understand?"

Chloe's heart sank under the intensity of his gaze. The fear that had faded to a whisper but never went away—not since she woke up at the bottom of those stairs—flared to life. And she remembered her life would never be the same.

"Holy ground," she said. Swallowing hard, she nodded. "Got it."

Merrick stared into her eyes for one long second. Then, he nodded. And the ever-present good humor returned. "Good. Now, back to the fun stuff." He waved around the cavernous room. "Any decorating tips?"

For a moment, Chloe just blinked at him. Like a disoriented owl. How did he do that? Change moods so fast? Most of the time, he seemed so cheerful and carefree. Then, that good humor just went go away. His gray eyes turned as cold and hard as steel. And she was reminded that he was a stranger.

A stranger who'd volunteered to teach her to defend herself from people who wanted to kill her. People who wanted to hunt her down and chop off her head and…

Maybe she wasn't ready to hear everything all at once.

Chloe took a deep breath and tried to recapture the mood of a few moments ago. Better that than happy thoughts of decapitation.

Looking up, she pointed towards the windows. "Maybe some nice curtains?" she asked.

Merrick nodded. "Sounds like just the thing."

____________________

Clark pealed out of the church parking lot. Oh, he'd hear about it when he got home. Someone would call his parents to tell them their son had been driving recklessly. And his dad would give him the lecture about driving safely.

You won't be hurt in an accident, son. But you have to think of the other people on the road with you. How would you feel if your actions caused someone else to be seriously injured?

That lecture was a guaranteed four hundred guilt points. Easy.

But, at the moment, he couldn't worry about that. He was too busy worrying about Chloe.

He couldn't even remember driving away from the Smallville Inn. Or straightening the steering wheel. He must have been in shock because, after seeing Chloe leave the hotel with that man, the next thing he remembered was pulling up to the church.

As he unloaded Mrs. Traubridge's stuff—and did all the other things he was asked to do—his mind raced, dashing from one emotion to the next.

Disbelief was first. Because, even though he saw it with his own eyes, he still couldn't believe it.

Then came guilt. How dare he let his mind jump to the conclusions it had jumped to? This was Chloe!. There must be some logical explanation for what he'd seen. Maybe the guy was a relative…who, for whatever reason, didn't want to stay in the Sullivan's guest room. And Chloe just went to the hotel to visit him.

But, if there was a logical explanation, why did Chloe lie to him about babysitting after school?

That question lead to anger. Chloe lied to him! She looked him right in the eye and…

Clark frowned as he changed lanes. Now that he thought about it, Chloe hadn't actually looked him in the eye much when he was at The Torch. She looked at the computer screen, or the keyboard, but not at him.

Which lead to concern. Was this why Chloe was so preoccupied and distracted the last couple of days? If she was distracted because she was worried about her situation—whatever her situation was, and he was trying really hard not to jump to conclusions here—that meant she was in some kind of trouble. Right?

And if this guy was doing anything to hurt her…

It took some effort not to bend the steering wheel out of shape again. He'd managed to straighten it out somewhat, but it was still lopsided. No need to add to the damage.

Clark forced his grip to relax, and took a deep breath. Now, talking to Chloe seemed even more urgent than it had before. Hopefully, she'd call him an idiot for overreacting to something completely innocent. She'd give him a logical explanation, and his stomach would stop twisting in knots, because there was nothing to be concerned about after all.

Or…

It was that "or" that had him worried.

Shaking his muddled head, Clark drove towards the Sullivan house.

___________________

Sam Krager only staggered once as he walked across the gravel-covered parking lot. He was pretty good at looking sober. No-one would ever guess he'd spent the last two hours in a local bar.

Besides, he wasn't really drunk. He knew how to hold his liquor. And he'd deserved it, right? Today, he got his promotion. And the boss let him off early.

"Time off for good behavior," Sam giggled.

And his wife was visiting her mother, so she'd never know he'd broken his promise.

Hell, he'd been dry for six months…except for a beer or two while watching football on Sunday afternoons. And he'd admit it. Charlene was right. Things had been going good for him lately.

But it was only this once. And he was celebrating. You couldn't kill a guy for that, right?

Sam pulled his car keys out of his pocket. He had to fumble a little to find the right one. And it took some effort to get the key in the lock.

With a nod of satisfaction, he opened the driver's-side door.

____________________

Chloe pulled the car into the driveway. Grabbing her bag, she got out of the car.

A few houses down, Shelly Macelli was playing with a beach ball in her front yard.

"Hi!" the little girl called, waving shyly.

As she waved back, Chloe wondered who was watching her. Okay, yeah, this was Smallville. But the four year-old spent way too much time outside alone, unsupervised. And it was almost dark.

I'll come back out and play with her, Chloe decided. And when someone finally came outside to get Shelly, she'd drop a few unsubtle hints about benign neglect.

Couldn't hurt.

As Chloe started towards her house, she noticed Shelly's ball had gotten away from her. As it rolled into the street, Shelly gave chase.

Chloe was about to call out to her to be careful…when a car screeched around the corner.

Shelly caught up with her ball in the middle of the road. As she picked it up, she looked towards the car barreling towards her.

But the little girl didn't move. Didn't run back across the street. Instead, she just...froze.

"Oh, God!" Chloe gasped. Dropping her bag in the grass, she started to run.

The world around her faded into a blur. All she could see was the little girl, standing there, a ball almost as big as she was clutched in her little hands. All she could hear was the car, the roar of the engine getting closer and closer.

Time moved in slow motion. It was like one of those dreams, where you tried to run but could never get anywhere.

Her thoughts were a jumble. A disjointed prayer.

Oh, no. Please. Move, kid! Won't make it. Too fast. It's too fast. Please, no.

And, suddenly, she was there.

Chloe slammed into Shelly Macelli. The little girl flew out of harms way. Screaming when she hit the ground and slid across the cement.

Thank God, Chloe thought…before her mind went blank.

________________________

As Clark turned onto Chloe's street, he saw someone running.

His first thought was, That's weird.

His second thought was, Hey, that's Chloe!

A split second later, his friend was in the street, pushing a little girl out of the way…

…just before a car slammed into her.

"Chloe!" he cried, one foot stomping on the brakes. Horrified because all he could do was watch.

The impact tossed Chloe's body into the air. As the car continued to move forward, she sailed over the hood. Crashed into the windshield.

The sound of shattering glass exploded into the silence.

Finally, the car screeched to a halt.

Chloe's body fell onto the car with a metallic bang.  Carried by momentum, she rolled down the hood, and dropped to the hard concrete. Then rolled a few more feet before coming to a stop. A still, boneless heap in the middle of the road.

Clark wrenched the truck's door open, almost taking it off of its hinges. In a blur of speed, he was at Chloe's side.

Frantic, Clark dropped to his knees, and he reached out to touch her. Then he stopped, uncertain. Lying there, she looked so…broken. What if touching her hurt her more.

Some distant part of his brain heard the little girl crying. The child stood up and ran towards a house a few doors down from Chloe's.

And the car that hit Chloe came to life. With a screech of its tires, it sped away in reverse.

Clark didn't care. All of his attention was on Chloe.

There was a large gash on her forehead. Blood ran down to cover her face. And every inch of exposed skin—her face, her arms and hands—seemed to be covered in scrapes from the cement.

The way her right leg was laying seemed…wrong. And her right arm was all bent and twisted.

"Chloe," he whispered, as fear flooded his body. This was bad. So bad.

And he hadn't done a thing to stop it!

Turning anxious eyes towards the houses, Clark started to call for help.

A moan drew his gaze back to Chloe. Her eyes were squeezed tight, her face frozen in a grimace of pain.

She was awake.

"Chloe! Don't…don't move. Don't move. I'll…get help." Again, he looked towards the houses. "Somebody!" he called.

"No!" Chloe groaned. And, suddenly, her left hand was clutching the front of his shirt. "N-no," she gritted through clenched teeth. "D-don't. D-" She dissolved into a paroxysm of coughing. And soon, blood coated her lips, trickled down her chin.

Clark panicked. "God! A hospital. You need…"

"No," she rasped. Her eyes were open, barely.  "No hos-hospital. Can't go…Can't stay…here." And, to Clark's horror, she started to use the hold she still had on his shirt to pull herself up.

"Don't move!" he said again. He grabbed her shoulders and forced her back down. "If you move, you could…"

"Clark," she whispered. "Can't stay. Get me…away." Her voice sounded faint but desperate. She forced her eyes open a little more. Her gaze was distant. Unfocussed. Pleading. "Please. Clark." And her eyes drifted shut again.

Clark shook his head. She had to be in some kind of shock. Unable to understand how hurt she was. But clearly remembering that she hated hospitals.

Clark pried her left hand off of his shirt. If he wasn't afraid to move her, he'd carry her to the hospital himself. They'd be there in minutes.

Instead, he would have to go get help.

As Clark prepared to stand, her gave her one final look. Instinctively, he activated his x-ray vision. He didn't know why. It wasn't like seeing the extent of her injuries would get her the help she needed any faster. He just did it.

And that's when he saw something…incredible.

It was like living electricity. Silver-white with a haze of blue. Spiraling around her broken bones. Racing through her bloodstream. Dancing under her skin.

Startled, Clark reared back, his vision returning to normal. In time to see the same silver-white energy arcing across the gash on Chloe's forehead. It weaved back and forth between the two jagged edges of the wound, like a needle and thread. As Clark watched, the gash seemed to knit closed. Leaving nothing but smooth, unblemished skin in its place.

"My God," Clark whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. "Chloe?"

(TO BE CONTINUED)