~*~ SUNDAY EVENING ~*~
The doors of Smallville Hospital's ER crashed open, and a pair of rugged emergency medical technicians guided a gurney into the hospital. Steven Miller was on the gurney, unconscious, pale and shaking. Lana Lang came through the doors behind them, hoping she could be of some help. She stood out of the way, and tried to not listen to the EMT ticking off medical facts to the doctor on duty. She didn't know what it all meant, but she heard it said that his vital signs were up way to high when they'd gotten to him, and now they were going down. His temperature was down to ninety-six, and still falling.
"...clutched his chest and collapsed." The EMT said.
The doctor leaned over Steven to listen to his heart for a moment.
"His girlfriend here found these in his car, but didn't know if he'd taken any." The EMT said and handed a bottle of prescription tranquilizers over. "Also he might have ingested a strong dose of chamomile tea."
"What's her name?" The doctor asked looking up at the EMT while he continued to listen to Steve's heart.
"Lana Lang." She told the doctor and stepped forward.
"Lana, how strong was the tea?" The doctor asked her, while he checked Steven's eyes with a little flashlight.
"Six bags of tea in two cups of water." Lana told him.
"This is getting really weird." A nurse said as she walked by.
The doctor lifted his head to give her a dark look, which the nurse ignored.
"Anything else you can tell me?" The doctor wondered at Lana.
"Only what I already told him." Lana said and motioned at the EMT. "Steve came over to my house about an hour ago. He was acting really strange, and he looked like he was sick or hot. I asked him if he was all right, and he kept telling me that he felt just fine." She trailed off and chewed at her lip as though considering some private thought. She sighed uncomfortably. "We were..." She looked down at the floor and blushed. "...kissing. Then, he stopped and grabbed his chest and collapsed. He screamed before he fell on the ground, then he was awake for a few minutes more before he passed out."
"How was he acting after he fell but before he passed out, Lana?" The doctor asked while taking Steve's blood pressure.
"Confused." She nodded her head. "He kept asking me how he got there."
The doctor's eyes sparkled with insight. He nodded his head at a nurse, then looked to Lana. "Can you stick around in case we need more information?" He asked as he motioned at the EMT's.
"Sure." She told him.
"Get him in two." The doc said, and handed the tranquilizers to a young intern, and told her to count how many were left, and call the kid's mother.
Lana was left in the waiting room, and she sat down in a vacant seat. She didn't know exactly what had happened to Steven, but she knew the doctor already had some idea about it.
~*~
Over the harvest ripe green fields of Smallville, a ghost moved in the sky. There were no physical restraints for it, and so it glided freely where it pleased to go, for as long as it pleased to roam. Wide open spaces, rolling green hills, spaces both wild and tame were explored.
But freedom and roaming weren't what this spirit wanted for itself. It wanted something else. It found the Kent farm, and rushed toward the barn. The spirit thought that there would be enough time for roaming later. Right now, it wanted to live again.
~*~
Pete Ross was sitting by himself in Clark Kent's loft on the sofa copying a paragraph from a reference book. He reached over to the table to pick up another already opened book...
...but his reaching hand convulsed. Pete Ross gasped and struggled and glowed a soft shade of blue. Books and notes tumbled to the floor. A moment later, he breathed deep and started looking frantically through the papers scattered around him. His hand found a little book in a black backpack, which he opened and studied. "Erica Fox?" He smiled broadly and tucked the little book into his pants pocket.
~*~
Clark walked casually into the barn with cups of coffee in each hand. "Pete, I got the coffee." He said and started to walk up the stairs.
Pete was standing at the top of the stairs, and looking down at him. Clark almost tripped over his own feet when he glanced up the stairs. He took one step backwards, and his feet were on the ground again. The base of his spine felt like it'd been turned to ice, and the sensation rushed upwards into his neck. His head felt heavy, and the hair on the back of his neck stood out.
One mug, held only by its handle, swung down lazily and hot coffee spilled to the ground. He didn't even notice the mess he was making.
Pete walked down the stairs, stopping at the last one, and he was four inches from Clark's face. He reached out one hand to right the cup in Clark's hand which was tipped and spilling.
Clark felt ice shooting up his arm, and he startled at the touch and dropped both cups. One broke on the step. The other thumped on the hard packed dirt floor.
Pete blinked at him. "What's the matter with you?"
"Nothing!" Clark yipped.
Pete stared at him hard, and took a small step forward.
Clark felt a thudding in his chest and icecubes were zipping up and down his spine. Words stuck in his throat. He wanted to scream, but nothing more than a weak little whimper came out of him. He backed away from Pete, and he meant to take only one step back, but his feet had other ideas. Now that he was moving, he couldn't stop himself. His backwards steps didn't stop until he'd backed up into the work bench, and knocked something off it. The noise made him jump a foot in the air.
"You're a real Jibberony." Pete told him and headed for the door. "I gotta go."
Clark's eyes popped open. The word Jibberony was said all the time by a certain wrestler whom he knew Pete hated. He certainly wouldn't quote the man.
"Bye." Pete said.
"Pete, don't leave!" Clark said anxiously. "We gotta finish our paper."
Pete stopped and turned around. Dark eyes met Clark's and he saw a hunger in them that made him shiver. "There's something wrong with you!"
Pete smiled broadly. "You're the one doing the square act."
"Lemme give you a ride." Clark said nervously.
"I'm gonna jog." Pete said with a shrug as he walked toward the barn door.
"Pete, it's a long way home and its dark out!" Clark objected.
"I'm not going home." He said as though that was a silly idea. "Don't worry about me, I'm covered."
"Where're you going?" Clark begged and pushed away from the table he'd backed up against. He shivered with cold and nerves.
"Just to Erica's." Pete called.
"I thought you broke up with her!" Clark complained.
"I'm going," Pete insisted, and dashed off down the driveway, leaving Clark behind feeling very bewildered and chilled. It took him a minute to recover, and all kinds of wild thoughts chased around in his brain. He had to do something!
But he didn't know if he could get close enough to Pete to do anything. The horrible feelings which had overcome him didn't feel anything like exposure to meteor rocks. There was no real pain. All he could think to call it was a 'feeling' that wasn't good. He wondered what was happening to him, and what the feeling meant.
"DAD!" He ran into the house to get help.
~*~
Mr. Kent was in the driver's seat, asking Clark all kinds of questions as he steered down the road. All Jonathan could get out of his son was that he got an icy, creeped-out feeling when a boy named Drew had gotten near him. He'd felt it again from Steve Miller. Just moments ago, his son had sensed the same eerie cold sensation from Pete.
None of his other questions could be answered. Clark said 'I don't know.' too many times, and finally Mr. Kent had quit asking. He wondered if his son was developing another new ability. If he was, then maybe it was too new for him to be able to explain it, otherwise Jonathan was sure he would have heard something about it by now.
He drove on down the night dark road, feeling frustrated because he knew Clark was confused and frightened of something he couldn't explain.
"There he is." Clark said and sat forward.
Mr. Kent couldn't see anything, but he trusted his son's eyes better than his own. "Which way?"
"Left." Clark said but pointed to the right.
Mr. Kent turned the truck right down the dirt roads that lead into the heart of the south end of Smallville. Through the windshield and in the light of high-beams, they could see Pete on the road ahead, running as fast and as hard as a person could run.
Clark shouted out the window. "Pete, what're you doing? Stop!"
"Why you following me? Go home!" He shouted and dashed off the road, leaping over a narrow ditch, and into a corn field. The truck couldn't follow.
Clark jumped out and chased after his friend. "PETE STOP!"
"CLARK!" Mr. Kent shouted after his son and slammed on the breaks.
~*~
Pete ran hard and fast, trampling stalks of corn, and flattening them to the ground.
Clark ran after him and he could stay just a few feet behind his friend, but couldn't catch him. He was afraid to touch him. Being as close to him as he was made him uncomfortable. It didn't hurt, or make him ill, but he didn't like the feeling either.
They crossed the cornfield. Clark shouted at Pete to stop. He shouted back at him to leave him alone. One after another, the shot out of the cornfield, and into the woods.
Clark knew that Pete was in good shape, but he'd been running to fast for too long. He should have stopped a long time ago. Saplings and thin gray tree trunks rushed by him, and he crashed into branches, and leaves.
"What is your problem?" Pete shouted at him from the darkness. "Leave me alone!"
"Something's wrong!" Clark cried out into the darkness, and he shoved branches out of his way rather than breaking them.
"Nothing's wrong!" Pete's voice echoed, and branches snapped and rustled as he ran through them.
"Pete!" Clark cried out, chasing, and decided he was going to grab him no matter what the contact might do to him. He didn't think that would be anything but a cold chill, and rushed forward to catch up with him.
Clark felt the cold seeping up his arm as he reached out, but ignored it. He got a small hold on Pete's jacket.
"BACK OFF!" Pete screamed at him and ran faster.
Clark grasped more of the fabric of Pete's jacket, and almost had him stopped, but he fell to his knees, gasping. He'd expected to feel ice shooting through him when he reached out for Pete. This feeling was entirely different. It was pain, and nausea and weakness and soul wrenching anxiety. At first he was confused by it. Even as his mind faded, he grasped the stupid thing he'd done.
The pain and vertigo had nothing to do with Pete. He'd made the mistake of not paying attention to where they were going. The area was full of meteor fragments and now that he remembered to look for them, he could see the green rocks glowing softly all around him.
He collapsed into the stale leaves, lacking the strength to even crawl away from the meteor rocks. His clothing absorbed cold dampness, and he became sicker and weaker, and desperate for help.
"Pete..." He begged and tried to reach a hand out to him. He wasn't thinking of his friend's predicament anymore though, but his own, and hoping for help.
"Leave me alone!" Pete shouted and kept running.
Clark slipped into a stupor of nausea and mental numbness.
~*~
"CLARK! DAMMIT! WAKE UP!" Dad called to him.
"mmmm..." Clark groaned.
"Can't carry you anymore, son." Dad said tiredly.
Clark felt himself reclined, his back leaned against something warm and he knew it was his father. He looked up and saw the tops of tall corn stalks, and black sky dotted with stars. He wondered how far his father had carried him. "Dad...where...where'd Pete go?"
"You all right?" Dad's voice begged, and a hand petted one side of his face.
"I'm gonna...I...ugghhhh..." Clark groaned and threw himself forward onto hands and knees and let his stomach heave. He was really glad it was too dark to be able to see what was coming out of him. He spat, and coughed.
Mr. Kent grabbed a hold of his son just before the poor kid fell face first in the mess he'd made. "If you got the strength for that, then you can walk on your own feet!"
"No...no, gotta...find Pete!" he complained.
"We'll worry about him, later, Clark." Dad ordered. "I'm taking you home."
Clark grumbled, but he was too weak to fight his father's wishes. He was barely strong enough to stand even with a lot of help. Walking was nearly impossible. He didn't understand what was wrong with him. He wasn't anywhere near the meteor rocks anymore, but he could still feel the effects.
He was barely aware of the trip home. He remembered Dad shutting the door, and then a moment later, he felt the truck stop. He heard voices, and a few times his mother called his name, but he couldn't answer her. Motion made him wonder if he was being carried. What little consciousness he had, was mostly used to alert him to the stinging, painful effects of the radiation from the meteor rocks.
"Jonathan, what happened to him?" His mother's voice came.
Dad's voice mumbled and droned down into the darkness in which Clark hovered. He hurt all over, and whined about it.
"Shhhh..." Someone said, and he felt a feather light touch to his forehead.
"...shouldn't be sick like this anymore." Dad said huskily.
"He's wet." Mom said. "Jonathan, the radiation from the meteor rocks probably contaminated the water he got into. That could be why he's still sick."
"Hadn't thought of that." Dad said.
Clark muttered a few words which even he didn't understand as he felt his wet clothes come off him. A few minutes later, he started to feel better, and realized he was in his own bed. Both his parents were seated on either side of him. Neither one of them would hear of him getting up, no matter what he tried to tell them about Pete. Mom at least promised to call Mrs. Ross.
They wouldn't listen to crazy stories about pictures of auras, and he knew they probably thought he was raving and hallucinating due to meteor rock induced confusion. He wasn't so certain that he was in his right mind either. He started to think about running off to find Pete, but before the thought finished itself, he was asleep.