Praise be to the gods of journalism, fickle bastards though they often are, that my car was still sitting in front of John's house and not unfairly impounded down at the Smallville police station. Stealing back my car from the police hadn't really been number one on my list of things to do with my day. I retrieved my spare key from the magnetic box stuck to the undercarriage, hugged Chad goodbye and solemnly promised to call him later.

I even made a mental note to forgive him for looking just the tiniest bit glad to be rid of me. Chad's not usually that type of adventurous. And I understand that. The routines of his life cycle between his job at the morgue and the poorly lit recesses of Metropolis' goth clubs. Poor little goth.

When I pulled up to the curb at Heinrich's house, he was sitting on his front steps, coffee in hand. He waved me over with his mug and some of the liquid slopped over the top. His navy and burgundy robe was tied loosely at his waist and his usually chic-messy chestnut hair was genuinely messy.

"Remind me again how you get into these situations."

"I'm not answering that on the grounds that it's a rhetorical question," I replied, sitting next to him on the steps.

"No, it's not."

"Well, it should be."

"Never mind. You'll save the world someday, sweetheart."

"Damn straight."

He handed me a stack of papers. "Dr. Alexi Richter. Phone records."

"Heinrich, I could kiss you!"

"Promises, promises," he said lightly.

It's funny the training that Hollywood gives you. You always expect something big. Some intricate, multifaceted conspiracy like a crazy cat's cradle, all twisted motives and tangled leads. Red herrings laid carefully in the path of the Intrepid Investigator. Gunshots at midnight. The Mysterious Stranger who breezes into town right before the trouble starts. Sometimes (you have to admit), the whole situation is ludicrously like the setup to some Scooby Doo mystery, only without quite so many meddling kids.

Either that or meteor freaks.

Lots and lots of meteor freaks.

Glowing green, fueled by a rock-induced vendetta against humanity in the general or the specific, like zombies straight out of Ed Wood's wildest wet dream. In Smallville, the freaks and the plots are the devil I know.

But what I found in Dr. Richter's phone records was definitely in the category of e) none of the above. There were a few local numbers, but only one long distance. Richard Marks. But the name wasn't familiar to me, not even in passing. Funny how I'd assumed that it might be. I guess that made him the devil I don't. But the name appeared too frequently to escape anyone's attention. He might be family, a very dear friend, a lover (he'd almost have to be, given the sheer number of times his number popped up).

"What's this?" I asked Heinrich.

"Metropolis by the area code. You know this guy?"

"Not at all." I shook my head.

"But you know someone who does, right? Or someone who can wangle an introduction?"

"I know someone who can wangle a lot of things."

"I'm sure you do." He kissed me sleepily on the cheek and climbed to his feet. "I hope you're not in over your head."

"Who, me? Never. Say 'hi' to Ilise for me."

Heinrich stiffened. His face went pale. "You didn't..."

"I wouldn't. Not in a million years."

"It's Amy now."

"Should I even bother?"

"Someday you'll have to see what all the fuss is about, dollface."

"Mm hm." He'd closed the door on me before I realized what I'd sort of agreed to.

* * *

No sign of Lex when I got to his house. I did see just about every cop in the world though, and (of course) Clark right smack dab in the middle of things. My first impulse was to throw the car into reverse and get the hell outta Dodge. Because Lex had to be around somewhere in town, right? Just because I didn't see him right there didn't mean...well, it didn't mean anything.

But Clark caught sight of me before I'd fully decided whether to stay or go. His long legs ate up the distance between us, but he stopped about a foot away.

"You're supposed to be at the hospital, Chloe."

"And you're supposed to be at school," I fired back.

"Someone called in a bomb threat to Lex's house."

"I know."

His eyes narrowed in this completely freaky, non-Clarklike way. I realized with a start that he was as close to fully angry as I'd ever seen him. "How do you know?"

"Um...because it was me?"

"What!" He started to take a step towards me, but then thought better of it and rocked back on his heels.

"Look, I don't really have time to explain right now. Have you seen Lex?"

"The sheriff said he left about half an hour ago. And that he seemed kinda pissed."

"Dammit. Do you know Lex's cell phone number?"

He scowled like crazy, but he still scribbled down Lex's number on a scrap of paper and handed it to me. "When you're finished talking, I'm taking you back to the hospital."

"I don't need to go back to the hospital."

"It's nonnegotiable, Chloe," he said sternly.

"Funny, that's exactly how I feel." I punched in Lex's number and looked at Clark pointedly before moving out of earshot. Lex answered on the second ring. "You lied to me."

"You called in a bomb threat to my house. I'd be well within my rights to have you arrested."

"You lied to me. We had an agreement."

"Which became null and void the instant the idea of a bomb threat crossed your mind."

"Incrimination by thought and not deed seems a little harsh to me."

"Not when thought is immediately followed by deed," Lex said pointedly. "How did you get this number anyhow? Not that I'd ever be one to question your motives."

"Oh, not at all. Clark."

"What's Clark doing there?"

"It's a crime scene. It's Clark." Even though he was standing about a hundred yards away, I swear I saw Clark's ears prick up when I mentioned his name. I moved further away, skirting the row of ornamental boxwoods at the edge of Lex's lawn.

"Point taken. We have nothing more to talk about, Ms. Sullivan."

"Richard Marks!" I managed before he could hang up on me.

"What did you say?"

"Not that you'd care or anything, but Dr. Richter was calling someone in Metropolis named Richard Marks an awful lot before he died."

"Chloe, I want you to listen to me very carefully." His voice was suddenly all grim and serious. "Dr. Richard Marks is the man I was scheduled to meet at 11. He called a few minutes after I talked with you and cancelled. But I doubt he was even in Metropolis to begin with."

"You think he's here," I said flatly. Even though I was standing smack dab in the middle of a patch of sunlight, and even though the day was on the warm side for a Smallville spring, I was absolutely clenching my teeth to keep from shivering. "And you think he knows about what I've been doing?" (What was that, exactly?) "What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to go home, lock all your windows and doors and avoid anyone you don't know." He said it slowly as if he were talking to a child or a particularly intelligent dog.

"I was hoping for something a little more helpful," I snapped. "You don't even trust me to notify the proper authorities?"

"Clark Kent does not count as the 'proper authorities.'"

"You don't know me as well as you think you do," I assured him, trying to keep the shakiness out of my voice. The police were clearing out, and with each one that left, I felt more and more exposed. The hairs at the back of my neck prickled as if someone were watching me. You better believe I did my damnedest to shake off the feeling. "Do you know what this Dr. Marks looks like?"

"Medium height, brown hair, average build."

"Fantastic. You've just described about half the people in the Western hemisphere. Anything else? Distinguishing marks? Facial hair, tattoos, body jewelry, decorative branding of any kind?"

"Now is not the time for flippancy," Lex said tensely.

"Who's being flip? I'm trying to save my own ass here."

"My mistake," he drawled. "Why don't you just assume Dr. Marks is anyone you don't know and leave it there."

"Sure. Fine."

He hung up and almost instantly, Clark was at my side, tugging me toward my car. "C'mon."

"Where are we going?"

"I said I was taking you back to the hospital."

"And I said it was nonnegotiable," I insisted, pulling my hand free of his grasp. "Look, Clark, I'm going to go home, lock the door and tie a big, honkin' string of garlic around my neck. That should keep the freaks away. And you can go and be educated in peace."

"What about you?"

I reached way way up and patted his cheek comfortingly. "I don't have the honor of a year's worth of perfect attendance to uphold."

That earned a reluctant, but brilliant-as-always, smile. He hooked his arm through mine and walked me to my car. "I know things've been...different, Chloe."

Oh crap. Not now. Not that the talk wasn't long overdue. Or that there weren't things we needed to say to each other, just.... "We can talk about that later, okay?"

"Okay." I forced myself to move slow. No whirling. Just turning. Don't run. Ease into the car. Shut the door. I rolled down the window and gave him my best everything-is-normal! grin. "I'll be fine, Clark. I promise." Once the engine started, I executed a neat three-point turn and raced down the hill, trying to put as much difference between me and my past mistakes as possible.