Chapter 7
To Sleep Perchance to Dream
Unseen or sensed by anyone, little sister with the black hair and the ancient eyes, surveyed Smallville from above. She saw no need to change forms from the one created by Lex's perception. It wasn't likely that anyone else would see her, and if they did their minds would come up with their own way to quantify her. Tonight she had to choose a champion, a vessel for her fight. This endeavor wouldn't take nearly as long as her brother's selection. She never removed the soul of her vessels. The light in them only strengthened her. Unfortunately, it had never been sufficient for her to actually win.
This confrontation would be different. Big brother had a soul bouncing around in there with him, and if she was smart about this, that soul might turn the tide for her. Selecting a vessel was instinctive, and her instincts said one thing: there was no vessel to match her brother's choice on this world. Instead of matching him, she would have to be smart about this, choose a vessel that would stir the dormant soul, Clark. Then she would maybe get a chance to use the information she'd gained from the protracted possession her brother had struggled through. The vessel he had chosen was strong and fast, but it had weaknesses.
Little sister didn't hesitate long. From Clark's dreams, she knew there were only two choices, and if she was to decide tonight, she would need to visit them both.
ID pictures weren't ever supposed to look good but this one did. Chloe Sullivan, member of the press, she looked older, sexier, and smarter in that little photo. With a self-satisfied sigh, Chloe clipped her press pass to the lapel of her smart little olive-green skirt suit, and made her way onto the main floor of the Daily Planet. Other reporters, all young and fiery, were dressed in their own neat suits and working at their own desks.
One of the more central desks bore the name plate, Chloe Sullivan, and that's where she took her seat. An edition of the Daily Planet was sitting on the top of the desk. In giant three inch font the headline read, Meteorites: the Genetic Catastrophe, a Daily Planet exclusive by Chloe Sullivan.
"Chloe, this just came up from the editor. He told me to run it right over."
It was Clark, still perfectly muscular and handsome with the chiseled features and the kind eyes, he was offering her a sheaf of papers. Unlike the reporters on the floor, Clark was wearing a simple short-sleeved white button-up shirt that conformed perfectly to his torso.
"How's life in the classifieds?" Chloe asked. "You think you'll make the floor this year? You're being wasted down their in no talent land."
Clark shrugged and set the papers on her desk. "I still have a lot to learn. Have you reconsidered dinner? We could talk about your last exclusive and things." He caressed her face and rubbed his thumb across her chin affectionately. His hands were still slightly rough from a childhood bailing hay and driving fence posts. "You work too much. I never see you."
"Are you kidding you see me every night." Chloe grinned seductively and pulled Clark closer. "I'm going to kiss you."
"but do you love him?"
Chloe froze half-way to Clark's lips. He frowned at her for stopping but she shushed him. The press room was no longer full of hard-working reporters. It stood empty and silent. So who had spoken? "Is someone there?"
"and does he love you? i haven't the time to dawdle, to live through your little fantasy. is it love you feel, or should I move on?"
"Clark, who is that?" Chloe asked. "You do hear that?"
Clark had taken a step back and he was staring into her eyes. "Do you love me? You told me that we weren't meant to be together, that we were just friends. How could you love me when you pushed me away?"
Chloe flinched and shook her head. This wasn't supposed to play like this. "You have to learn that people don't always mean what they say. I was scared and hurt. You just believed me?"
"I don't read people's minds, and you haven't said you love me. You don't do you," Clark said. He turned and started walking away.
"I don't know. We're friends and that's safe. I won't lose you if we stay friends." Instead of the Daily Planet, the room had shifted into the office of the Torch. "Clark, just stop, listen." The door to the office slipped shut sealing him away from her. God, why did he always leave? Chloe thought she saw something moving out of the corner of her eye but when she spun it wasn't there.
"good luck Chloe, but you can't help me."
Sitting up in bed, it took Chloe a minute to catch her breath. What a freaky dream that had been? It was similar to other dreams she'd had up until the third party butted in and ruined the mood. Chloe tried lying back down and recapturing her dream at the good part, but her head was buzzing like she'd had too much caffeine. Chloe swung her legs over the side of the bed and shoved her feet into her fuzzy orange house shoes. On her way out, she shrugged into her robe. "Need warm milk."
There is nothing in the world like galloping a horse. When you're riding in synch with the animal, you leave the earth behind and you fly. Lana leaned forward clutching the mane of her first horse, a fast little palomino, Fiona. They were riding through fields of wild spring flowers, purple, pink, yellow. The smell was sweet and wet, like rain might fall at any second. Lana cried out her joy and urged Fiona faster.
A fat frigidly cold drop of rain struck her on the head, and Lana pulled Fiona back. They should go home. Fiona died of pneumonitis when she was just seven. The rain was going to make her sick. "I'll get you home," Lana whispered.
The rain was falling in torrential sheets before they made it back to the barn, and Lana was weeping. She tried to cover Fiona with her body, to block away the death bringing rain. "I'm sorry." Lana put Fiona into her stall, but it was too late. She could feel the heat in Fiona's neck and see the sag of her head. Lana shivered in her soggy clothes and turned away.
"Don't cry."
He was there. Clark was standing in the rain staring at her. He looked so pitiful and alone with the cold water running over his face and dripping off his fingertips, but Lana didn't invite him in. "Why are you here, Clark? I didn't ask for you to come. You don't get to rescue me from this, from anything."
"I don't want you to hurt." Clark took a step forward, for the safety and warmth of the barn.
If he came close, she might forget why he wasn't right for her, why she couldn't completely trust him. "No," Lana whispered. "You can't come in."
Clark stopped but he kept staring. "If I told you the truth, you'd let me in."
"If you told me the truth, we could trust each other, but you can't tell me. You don't trust me." The barn was gone in an instant and they were being whipped by the winds of a violent storm. "I don't know how you did it, how you came through that storm and put yourself between me and death. I know you did it. I can't thank you for it, because you won't even admit it."
"I think I might love you," Clark said.
"I'm not blind. I see how you look at me." God, he shouldn't be able to look so beautiful and sad and earnest all at once. "We will never know what we could be, will we?"
A voice, one with the wind, everywhere and nowhere at once, broke through the storm. "you should never thumb your nose at love. it isn't a gift that comes so often in a life. i think you're subconscious is right. He loves you, but can i wager everything on a connection you fight with tooth and nail? you child, are incomprehensible."
Lana turned to the wind, searching for the owner of the scathing voice. "Who's there? You don't have any right to judge me."
"i know he loves you, for that alone you will have to do."
Chloe assembled the ingredients for some Sullivan style warm milk. You needed sugar, Hershey's chocolate syrup, cinnamon, and a tiny dash of Redi-Whip. Where was the Redi Whip? Chloe elbowed her way to the very back of the fridge. They just couldn't be out. That was almost as bad as running out of coffee. "Yes!" Chloe brandished the Redi Whip and turned to inventory her ingredients.
"What are you making?"
Chloe jumped and smiled at Lana. She was standing there in her light blue satin pajamas just a step from being in the light of the kitchen. "Sullivan style warm milk, you have to try some. I'm obviously not the only one having a hard time sleeping tonight."
Lana came forward and sat down at the bar in front of Chloe. She felt sleepy and slow like she was walking underwater. "Where's the milk?"
"Whoops." Chloe scanned the fridge again. "Don't tell me we're out. I can't believe that, everything but the milk."
Lana sucked in a deep breath to try and get some oxygen to her brain and maybe wake up a little. She let her heavy eyelids droop shut. Someone was with her around her, wearing her like a glove. When her eyes opened again it wasn't because she told them to. She was standing back a step, watching everything, watching Chloe, but it wasn't her. The world looked gray from here, gray and cold. "We have to go."
"Unfortunately, Smallville doesn't have a twenty-four hour market. We'll have to do without the all natural Sominex," Chloe said. Lana didn't nod or smile. She looked kind of dopey and drowsy. Maybe she was sleep walking or something. "Are you awake?"
"We are quite awake. Wish us luck." Lana turned and walked away.
Lana had to be sleepwalking, Chloe reasoned. She was headed for the front door in her pajamas and bare feet, not good. You weren't supposed to wake sleepwalkers up but how did you keep them out of trouble? "Lana, wait up." Chloe followed into the living room, but Lana had started to run. To change or follow in robe... "Dang it," Chloe grumbled. If anyone saw her running around in fuzzy slippers and her old robe, she would never live it down.
A little bubble of light surrounded from all sides by a rancid flowing river of black, Clark huddled in his sanctuary, watching the river run its slow course around him. Sometimes he thought there was a break in the blackness, a rusty vein of blood, fresh death, or an amber streak of pure fear, but eventually it was all swallowed back into the blackness. This place felt like a dream, with its fuzzy borders and unreality.
But then there was the reality of it all, when he heard Lex's voice, and when he had been able to see the ballroom. Clark reached a hand out hesitantly toward the black river beyond the safe bubble of light. He barely brushed it with the tips of his fingers. Discord, nails on chalkboards, a taste like the bitterest persimmon, and a torrent of vile images, flooded Clark's senses. Under his skin, it felt like there were a million ants crawling and stinging.
Even after he pulled away, some of it lingered, torturing his senses with an afterglow of agony. Clark curled into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut. So this was it. He lost to the shadow-voice. Maggot-face had stuffed him into a prison inside himself and God only knew what he was doing now with the super-powered alien body he had possessed. That wasn't true though, Clark knew what that thing was doing. He dreamed it.
Clark wasn't sure how much time passed before he dared open his eyes, but when he did the scenery had changed. Before, the river of black had huddled close to his little sphere of light as though trying to crowd him away. Now it had withdrawn around an ugly puckered brown scar in its flow. So the river hadn't liked the touch anymore than he had? If he could endure the pain of it, maybe he could harm the invader in his brain?
Author's Note:
First off response to a couple of comments. Doven, I don't like to worry Jonathan and Martha... It just keeps happening when I'm torturing Clark **grin**. Becs, hehe the British accent thing, I found myself thinking the same thing. I suspect it's because I watched Resident Evil recently. The Red Queen... If you've seen it you understand. :)
Now on to the sad news, I HATE chapter 8. It's driving me insane. If chapter 8 doesn't work, this story totally doesn't work. If I'm a no show next week it's because chapter 8 is giving me a migraine and drove me to a different story.
Have a good weekend and Peace!
