At the head of the stairs, Lex stopped. "We need to find out," he paused for an instant, then continued. "We need to find out where Clark went, and what his handler is doing."
Jonathan bristled at the term. "Luthor, he's not an animal, he doesn't have a handler."
"You think they haven't been treating him like one?" Lex felt an unwelcome jolt of satisfaction as the farmer blenched. "Training him to kill on command, teaching him tricks?"
"Lex!" Lana glared, eyes narrowed, their color intensifying like a light surrounded by darkness. What shook him wasn't that she'd been increasingly free in showing disapproval of things he said and did, but that a part of him was welcoming it.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kent, I put that crudely." Jonathan nodded, only partially appeased. "I want to see what the security cameras caught of either of them."
As he led the way to the monitoring room, he felt a strange tension enter his body, an atavistic part of his brain warning his senses to be on alert. Sneaking a sidelong glance at Lana, he saw his unease mirrored on her face and in the tautness of her body, as though it were poised to flee some danger the body recognized before the mind. Their eyes met and Jonathan, walking behind them, opened his mouth as Lana turned around.
"You feel it, too. Something's wrong," she stated.
"It smells wrong," the farmer muttered.
Lex hadn't realized Jonathan had meant it literally and was unable to keep from sniffing the air. There was a faint whiff of wet, hot metal, suddenly raising a memory of a visit to a mint. There was also, as they stood still, a stillness that shouldn't have been there. There should have been the sounds of conversation, audible in the hallway, or even just the sounds of people moving about. There was nothing.
Making himself anticipate the worst, Lex hurried to the door, the tang of metal seeming to pinch the insides of his nostrils with malicious, greedy fingers. Opening it, he saw a parody of the normal activities, one man sitting in front of a monitor, a woman with a paperback in her hand as she waited for her shift to begin, another man with a cup of coffee in front of him. Each one had been shot in the head and it was the thickening blood pooled beneath each that sent off the odor of the slaughterhouse.
"God," Martha breathed, as she took in the scene.
Jonathan took two steps to the phone, but as he lifted the receiver, she put a hand on his arm. "Stop. We can call the police later. But if we don't find out what's happened, where they've gone, we'll be stuck here while they investigate." He looked dubious, and she continued, more vehemently, "It won't make a difference to them," her gesture encompassing the corpses around them. "But it could make a difference to Clark." He nodded, slowly, and put it back down.
Lana had tiptoed, as if thinking the noise of her footsteps could disturb the victims, to the monitor. The screen, divided into four squares, each showing a different part of the castle and grounds, showed a ludicrously tranquil scene in each. Lex crossed to join her. "There are eight cameras. Each one is taped to a different machine. I'm not sure which, don't think it matters."
"These?" Jonathan squatted in front of a bank of recorders.
"Rewind them. We'll see if they caught anything." He had to step so close to the man with the coffee that he almost murmured an apology. Well, perhaps he should, at that. Whoever he was, he hadn't really expected to be killed like this. For something that still made no sense. At least the eyes didn't accuse him. Instead, they seemed pensive, as if the man were pondering a question. *I hope you found the answer,* Lex thought, as he bent to assist Jonathan.
By tacit agreement, each of them watched two monitors, fast-forwarding to save time. Martha was the first to exclaim, "Here's something." She slowed the tape to normal speed, and it showed the intruder using a cell phone to call someone, then leaving the castle.
"Here's more," Jonathan said, tensely. "What's he doing? Picking up rocks?"
"Meteors," Lana answered.
Jonathan bristled at the term. "Luthor, he's not an animal, he doesn't have a handler."
"You think they haven't been treating him like one?" Lex felt an unwelcome jolt of satisfaction as the farmer blenched. "Training him to kill on command, teaching him tricks?"
"Lex!" Lana glared, eyes narrowed, their color intensifying like a light surrounded by darkness. What shook him wasn't that she'd been increasingly free in showing disapproval of things he said and did, but that a part of him was welcoming it.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Kent, I put that crudely." Jonathan nodded, only partially appeased. "I want to see what the security cameras caught of either of them."
As he led the way to the monitoring room, he felt a strange tension enter his body, an atavistic part of his brain warning his senses to be on alert. Sneaking a sidelong glance at Lana, he saw his unease mirrored on her face and in the tautness of her body, as though it were poised to flee some danger the body recognized before the mind. Their eyes met and Jonathan, walking behind them, opened his mouth as Lana turned around.
"You feel it, too. Something's wrong," she stated.
"It smells wrong," the farmer muttered.
Lex hadn't realized Jonathan had meant it literally and was unable to keep from sniffing the air. There was a faint whiff of wet, hot metal, suddenly raising a memory of a visit to a mint. There was also, as they stood still, a stillness that shouldn't have been there. There should have been the sounds of conversation, audible in the hallway, or even just the sounds of people moving about. There was nothing.
Making himself anticipate the worst, Lex hurried to the door, the tang of metal seeming to pinch the insides of his nostrils with malicious, greedy fingers. Opening it, he saw a parody of the normal activities, one man sitting in front of a monitor, a woman with a paperback in her hand as she waited for her shift to begin, another man with a cup of coffee in front of him. Each one had been shot in the head and it was the thickening blood pooled beneath each that sent off the odor of the slaughterhouse.
"God," Martha breathed, as she took in the scene.
Jonathan took two steps to the phone, but as he lifted the receiver, she put a hand on his arm. "Stop. We can call the police later. But if we don't find out what's happened, where they've gone, we'll be stuck here while they investigate." He looked dubious, and she continued, more vehemently, "It won't make a difference to them," her gesture encompassing the corpses around them. "But it could make a difference to Clark." He nodded, slowly, and put it back down.
Lana had tiptoed, as if thinking the noise of her footsteps could disturb the victims, to the monitor. The screen, divided into four squares, each showing a different part of the castle and grounds, showed a ludicrously tranquil scene in each. Lex crossed to join her. "There are eight cameras. Each one is taped to a different machine. I'm not sure which, don't think it matters."
"These?" Jonathan squatted in front of a bank of recorders.
"Rewind them. We'll see if they caught anything." He had to step so close to the man with the coffee that he almost murmured an apology. Well, perhaps he should, at that. Whoever he was, he hadn't really expected to be killed like this. For something that still made no sense. At least the eyes didn't accuse him. Instead, they seemed pensive, as if the man were pondering a question. *I hope you found the answer,* Lex thought, as he bent to assist Jonathan.
By tacit agreement, each of them watched two monitors, fast-forwarding to save time. Martha was the first to exclaim, "Here's something." She slowed the tape to normal speed, and it showed the intruder using a cell phone to call someone, then leaving the castle.
"Here's more," Jonathan said, tensely. "What's he doing? Picking up rocks?"
"Meteors," Lana answered.
