PART SIX

Martha Kent heard the squeal of tires coming from outside.

While it got her attention, she shrugged it off. Lex Luthor was a frequent visitor to the Kent farm. Not to mention an adventurous driver. She was used to the sound by now.

So she continued to snap the fresh peas she was making for dinner.

Until she heard her sons voice.

"Mom! Dad!"

Martha frowned. Clark sounded upset.

Scared.

Martha wiped her hands on a dishtowel. Hurrying out of the kitchen, she opened the front door.

"Oh my God!" she gasped.

Cradled in Clark's arms was Chloe Sullivan. The girl, usually so energetic and full of life, looked like a discarded rag doll, lifeless and torn. Her head lolled across Clark's arm. Blood trickled from her mouth, down her chin. Her skin was scraped and raw.

"What happened?" Martha asked. Fear choked her voice.

Mouth set in a grim line, eyes frantic in his still face, Clark didn't answer. Instead, he walked towards the entrance. Without a thought, Martha stood to one side, and held the screen door open for him.

"Clark?" she said as she followed him inside. "What…"

"There was an accident," her son said, talking a fraction too fast. "There was…this car. And Chloe…" He couldn't seem to continue.

Martha studied Chloe. One look at the unconscious girl told her how bad the accident must have been. And, from the turmoil in his eyes, she knew Clark must've have seen it. And hadn't been able to stop it, even with his powers.

Oh, Clark, she thought. Martha Kent knew her son. He was probably already blaming himself.

But she'd have to tend to his emotional wounds later. Now, there was Chloe.

Martha rested one hand on Clark's arm. The other brushed against a patch of skin on Chloe's cheek that wasn't scraped.

"You shouldn't have moved her, honey," she said. And immediately wanted to snatch the words back. Recriminations weren't what they needed right now. "Why don't you go lay her on the sofa. I'll call for an ambu…"

"No!" Clark exclaimed. "We can't call anyone."

Martha opened her mouth to speak. To tell him Chloe was badly hurt and needed help, so of course they had to call for an ambulance.

"Something's happening to her, Mom," Clark continued. He glanced down at Chloe. "I think she's…healing." He shook his head, as if he couldn't believe what he'd just said. "I don't know. When I looked at her with my x-ray vision, I saw this energy or something, moving around all inside her. And…"

"Energy?" She stared at his lowered head, trying to understand. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. It's just…" Suddenly, his eyes widened. "Look!"

Martha glanced down at Chloe, and gasped. Sparks of light danced across the bloodied scrape on her right cheek. Small sparkles of silver-white weaving in and out of the ravaged skin. As she watched, the scar seemed to fade. Fainter and fainter until the abrasion was gone. Like it had never been.

"Clark?" Martha whispered, unable to believe her eyes.

"I think she knew this would happen," Clark continued. "And she begged me, Mom. She doesn't want to go to a hospital. She doesn't want anyone to know about this."

Martha stared into her son's earnest eyes. And her mind flashed onto one of her worst nightmares. Somehow, some way, Clark got hurt. Unconscious, he was rushed to the hospital. Where they'd discover that no needle could penetrate his skin. And they'd do tests. And they'd call experts. And the wrong people would find out about this strange boy in Smallville, Kansas named Clark Kent who didn't seem to be completely human.

These thoughts made Martha's stomach sink. Some invisible force squeezed her heart in its fist, sucked the air out of her lungs.

If that ever happened, she and Jonathan would lose their son.

She wasn't about to contribute to Gabe Sullivan losing his daughter.

"Let's take her to the guest room."

____________________

Arms crossed, Clark paced from one end of the kitchen to the other. Again and again, his mind replayed the accident. Eyes open or closed, it didn't matter. He couldn't get the vision of Chloe being hit by the car, tossed into the air, out of his mind. And the sound of her body crashing into the windshield echoed through his memory.

"Try to calm down, son," Jonathan Kent said. Elbows resting on the table, he clasped his hands under his chin. "Wearing a rut in the floor isn't going to help Chloe."

"Nothing I do can help Chloe," Clark muttered. "I sure didn't help her this afternoon."

His father gave him a long, searching look. "Clark, you can't blame yourself for what happened. Even with your abilities…"

"I can't save everyone," Clark interrupted. The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Thinking back on the accident, all he could remember was sitting frozen in the truck while his friend was plowed down. Logically, he knew there was nothing he could have done. It all happened in a split second. Even he wasn't that fast.

But he didn't feel all that logical right now.

Just then, Martha Kent came into the kitchen. She looked as shocked as Clark felt.

"How is she?" Clark asked.

His mother just shook her head. "It was incredible." She set the first aid kit on the counter. "I'd start cleaning a scrape or cut and, before I'd finish, it was just…gone." She looked at Clark, eyes wide she clutched her right bicep. "And you said her arm was broken?"

"Yeah." Clark nodded. "It was pretty obvious, even without x-ray vision."

"Well, I don't think it is anymore. At least, not in a way you can see with the naked eye."

Jonathan stood up from the table. "Son, do you think this has anything to do with the meteor rocks?"

"I don't know," Clark said with a thoughtful frown. "Chloe's been acting really…off the last couple of days. Maybe something happened to her. Something that gave her the ability to heal."

"I guess we'll ask her," his dad said. "When she wakes up."

Nodding, Clark started pacing again.

____________________

Heart pounding, Chloe Sullivan sat up in bed. Eyes squeezed tight, she panted for breath.

Her mind was a jumble of thoughts and feelings and images. Seeing Shelly in the path of the car, and the panic that she wouldn't get there in time. This incredible pressure on her right side, followed by blackness deeper than anything she'd ever seen before.

Then the blackness went away for a moment. And her body was hit by a flood of pain so…big, so all-consuming, she couldn't think. She couldn't imagine there was anything else.

Chloe took a deep breath and forced her eyes open. There was a moment of disorientation as she wondered where she was. Then, she recognized her surroundings. It was the Kent's guest room. She'd stayed there once or twice, like when her father was away on business or something.

As her heart started to slow down, other memories seeped in. They were faint and hazy, more like a dream than something that really happened.

She'd opened her eyes and there was Clark, looking more scared than she'd ever seen him before. And he was saying something about a hospital.

And the pain was pushed aside by panic. She couldn't go to the hospital! If she did, they would find out. They'd witness her healing first hand. They'd know she wasn't normal.

She didn't need Merrick to tell her what a bad idea that was.

"Chloe?"

Startled, she turned. "Clark?"

He stood in the doorway, a worried frown crinkling his brow. "How are you?" he asked uncertainly.

For a moment, she couldn't speak. Her heart sank as the realization struck her. He knew. He'd seen her lying there, broken, in the middle of the street. And he could see with his own eyes that just (she glanced at the bedside clock) a few hours later, she wasn't broken anymore. Not even a little bit.

Uneasy, she stared down at her lap. Things were about to change. Again.

"What happened, Chloe?" Clark asked. The worry on his face was joined by confusion. "I just saw you get hit by a car. And now…"

Eyes narrowed, Clark studied her. His gaze was so intense, so penetrating, Chloe could almost believe he could see right through her.

"Now," he continued, "it's like it never happened." Clark shook his head. "Does this have something to do with the meteor rocks? Did something happen to give you some kind of…healing ability?"

Chloe settled back against the headboard. She'd imagined this moment a hundred times. Each scenario filled her with dread, and made her even more determined not to let anyone know what she was. So she was surprised she wasn't more scared. Probably adrenaline, numbing her down so she could take whatever badness took place in the next few minutes.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to look at Clark. Her best friend. The guy she could tell just about anything.

"It doesn't have anything to do with the meteor rocks," she said. "I was born this way."

Frowning, Clark took several steps towards the bed. "What do you mean?"

Deciding it would be less painful this way, Chloe forced herself to blurt it out. "Clark. I'm Immortal."

____________________

Clark Kent's head was spinning by the time Chloe explained what she meant.

Lowering himself onto a wooden chair, he leaned towards the bed. "Are you saying you can't die?" he'd exclaimed. Again.

And she smiled at him for the first time in days. "Well, that's kind of the definition of 'Immortal', Clark. Oh, and you have to think the word in capital letters. At least, that's what Merrick says."

"Merrick?"

"He's like me. An Immortal. I met him in Metropolis. And he sort of volunteered to teach me about what we are."

Clark nodded as the pieces fell into place. Well, that was one mystery solved. The man he'd seen coming out of the hotel with Chloe was this Merrick guy.

One question answered. A hundred or so to go.

As silence descended upon the room, Clark stared at her. Her teeth were nibbling at her bottom lip. Her nervous eyes darted around the room She looked like…like he'd  probably looked when he told Pete his secret.

When he told Pete what he really was, he couldn't stop thinking about the nightmare he had sometimes. In it, he was the star of a scene straight out of Invasion of the Body Snatchers. He's walking down the street one day when everyone starts to stare at him. And point. And they're whispering to each other, until the air is filled with the hiss of lowered voices.

Freak! someone screams. Then someone else. Then someone else. And, soon, everyone's screaming it as they move closer and closer, eyes wide with fear and revulsion. Surrounding him on all sides with that word.

Freak! Freak! Freak!

And he knew this was why Chloe had been acting so strange lately. Distant, and worried, and anxious. She'd probably imagined herself as the star of the same scene.

At this very minute, she was watching him. Waiting for him to look at her like she was the most disgusting thing he'd ever seen. Or the scariest. Or maybe to start studying her, like she was a bug under a microscope.

So, he kept his tone casual, his expression mildly curious. "How long have you been an Immortal? I mean, when you fell out of the window at Lex's, you didn't heal this fast."

Chloe's eyes widened, like she was surprised by his mild reaction. She studied him for a moment, an uncertain frown crinkling her brow. "My Immortality was dormant until now. Before that, it took me as long to heal as anyone else. Then, the first day I was out sick with a cold, I d-…" She paused to clear her throat. "Um, it sort of 'activated', I guess. And I kinda wigged."

"Yeah." Clark nodded. He knew what that was like. He'd always been faster and stronger than other people. It had just always been that way. And, while he knew it wasn't normal, he'd had his entire life to accept it.

Then, a little over a year ago, his more exotic powers started to develop. The first time his x-ray vision kicked in, it terrified him. All he could think about was that guy in that movie, whose x-ray vision got so out of control, he ended up not being able to see anything because he saw right through everything.

He'd always thought it was a sucky way to end a movie, and he sure didn't want to be the remake. Luckily, he'd learned to control his new ability. Because he didn't want to go through life seeing people as nothing but bones and muscle tissue.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he found Chloe staring at him. "What?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Why aren't you more wigged? I mean, if I wigged, you should wig too. It seems only fair."

Clark stared down at the floor. Since he couldn't tell her the truth—that he'd once been the one telling a friend he wasn't normal—he opted for a grin. "I don't know. It sounds kind of cool."

Chloe seemed to give that some thought. Then, slowly, she smiled. "I guess it is. Kind of."

____________________

"I still can't believe how cool they all were about the whole thing," Chloe said. "Clark and his parents."

"What were you expecting, exactly?" Merrick asked as he sat next to her on the sofa. "For them to run, screaming, from the room? For them to form their fingers into the shape of the cross and wave it in your face?"

"Well,"—Chloe shrugged "—yeah."

Merrick grinned, probably amused by her baffled expression. "Chloe, a few mortals have found out what I am over the years. Now, I wouldn't recommend taking out an add in the local penny saver. But I've found that most people who really know and care about you can be trusted with your secret."

Chloe nodded. "I guess." At least, it made her think twice about not telling her dad. Her brain had been so busy thinking about that one, she hadn't gotten any sleep last night.

"You are very lucky it was your friend Clark who found you," Merrick continued. "Luckier still that he understood enough to get you out of there."

"I know," Chloe sighed. And her mind flashed back on the accident.

As she'd lain awake in bed last night, she'd replayed the memories again and again. Instead of fading, every detail got sharper and sharper. She remembered everything. The look on Shelly Macelli's face. The design on the ball the little girl had chased into the street.

And the car.

The anger she'd felt since last night started a slow burn in her chest. "I can't believe Sam Krager is going to get away with this!"

"Sam Krager?" Merrick said. "The driver that hit you?"

"Yeah. I'd know that ugly car of his anywhere. And, since his wife is out of town, it had to be him driving." Her fists clenched with frustration. "His drinking got him into a lot of trouble a while back. He had some D.U.I.'s, and a drunk-and-disorderly charge. Then, he seemed to go straight. Everybody was pretty impressed. But I guess he's boozing it up again." Suddenly, her eyes widened as she got an idea. "Hey! Maybe I don't have to tell the police what actually happened. I'll just say…I saw his car weaving all over the road, and am pretty sure he was driving drunk. If he's on some kind of probation…"

"No." Merrick shook his head. "The last thing you want is to draw attention to what happened yesterday. And, while I hate depending on the worst elements of human nature, I think it could work in your favor. The fact that the man left the scene of the accident means he's unlikely to talk about it. And, if he was drunk, he might not have a clear idea what happened."

"I guess," Chloe said through clenched teeth. Her smile had a bitter twist to it. "So, he's not going to sell my story to The Inquisitor. Yea me! And he gets away with hitting me, and almost killing Shelly. Which is just great! And there's nothing to stop him from drinking and driving again. Even more bright side!"

Merrick gave her a chiding look. "Sarcasm should only be used in moderation, Chloe. And, hopefully, what happened will scare some sense into Mr. Krager. I'm sure he'll think twice before getting behind the wheel while under the influence again."

Chloe stared at her mentor. There was no way he, at one hundred and thirty, was that naive.

Sighing, she glanced down at her watch. "I'd better go. I'm already late for school." She stood and picked up her bag. "I can't believe I got up an hour early just to come talk to you. And I only had one cup of coffee."

"The sacrifices we make."

Rolling her eyes, Chloe opened the hotel room door.

"Chloe."

She turned, ready for another of Merrick's quips.

But his smile was gentle. His eyes sincere. "You saved a child's life yesterday," he said. "You should be very proud of yourself."

Feeling suddenly shy, Chloe blushed. "I am," she said.

And there was a bounce in her step as she left the hotel.

____________________

Sam ignored the ringing 'phone. It was probably someone from work, calling to ask why he was late.

Just got a promotion yesterday, and he was already screwing it up.

Sam's hands shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. When he'd decided to give up on anything harder than beer, he'd told Charlene he'd throw out every bottle of liquor in the house. Instead, he'd stashed them at the back of the storage closet. It was a test, he'd told himself. The fact that he hadn't touched any of it in months proved that he was serious about cleaning up his act. That he could be strong.

A bark of laughter, that sounded more like a sob, escaped his raw throat. Yeah, he was strong. So strong, he ran away from an accident he caused.

He emptied the glass in one gulp. He couldn't remember all of what had happened. It wasn't clear. But he knew he'd hit someone.

"How?" he gasped. How could he have just…taken off like that? And left the person he'd hurt lying there in the middle of the street.

He'd panicked. As soon as he hit the breaks, a hundred thoughts rushed through his head. Losing his job. Charlene leaving him. Going to jail. And he'd been so scared.

But that was no excuse. He knew that. And he knew he'd have to turn himself in. He just needed one more drink. And the bottle on the coffee table was empty.

Sam pushed himself out of his chair, staggering from the booze and lack of sleep. He took a step towards the kitchen.

And that's when something hit him.

Pain exploded through his head as he crashed to the floor. The glass fell out of his hands and skittered across the carpet.

"Mr. Krager," a strange voice said. "You've been a very bad man."

Sam groaned. His head felt like it was about to throb right off of his shoulders. "Who…?" he moaned.

"Under normal circumstances, the authorities would handle this," the voice continued, and Sam's booze-soaked brain picked up a slight, British accent. "I imagine you'd be locked in a nice, 8 by 10 cell with a man named Bubba who desperately wants to be your…friend." 

Sam's head felt so heavy, he couldn't lift it. Instead, he turned over onto his back, wincing as the pain grew in intensity. His blurred gaze took in the tall, dark figure that loomed over him. And his heart started to pound in his chest.

"Circumstances prevent me from turning you over to the police." Suddenly, the figure kneeled next to him. "But there is such a thing as poetic justice." The man smiled. And it was as hard and cold as his steel-gray eyes. "You, my dear Mr. Krager, are going to have an accident."

A sliver of terror, as sharp as a razor, shot through Sam's body. Looking into those eyes, he knew he'd never leave this house again.

Not alive.

(TO BE CONTINUED)