Clark struggled to wake up. His lids felt heavy, but he finally opened
his eyes wide enough to see he was in a strange room. It looked like an
ordinary bedroom, with soft gray walls and a black lacquer dresser. He was
tucked into a wide bed under white sheets, and white curtains stirred
slightly in the breeze from an open window. Outside he could see sunlight,
and just a patch of blue sky.
He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as dirt. Glancing over to one side, he could see a pitcher of water and a glass, but he was too tired and sore to reach for it. He wondered where he was, and how long he had lain there. His memory seem oddly fuzzy.
"So you're awake again. Good."
Startled by the voice, Clark looked up to see Jenna Iverson leaning against the door jam. She was wearing a black sweater, which seemed odd, because the last time they had met she'd been wearing red. But his head hurt too much to make sense of it.
He opened his mouth. "Water," he said feebly. Even to his own ears his voice sounded like it belonged to an old man.
"Thirsty, huh? That must be a good sign."
She sat on the edge of the bed and poured him a glass, holding his head so he could drink the blessedly cool liquid.
When his thirst was sated, he frowned up at her.
"How long have I been here?"
"Don't you remember? Almost three days."
"Three days?" He croaked.
"It was late Thursday night when I brought you here. It's Sunday now."
Clark tried to remember, but everything seemed a blur.
"Have I been running a fever?" That was the one illness he could relate to, having had one for the first time in his life a few weeks before.
"Off and on. One minute you'd be burning up, and the next freezing." She gestured at the pile of blankets and quilts at the foot of the bed. "I think whatever they gave you affected your body's internal thermostat, so to speak."
"Where am I?"
"I thought it would be best if we hid out until I figure out who's after you. This is the apartment of one of my professors: he's on sabbatical in Germany and I've been looking after it. You should be thankful, because it's way nicer than my place."
This was more words than he'd ever heard Jenna string together in one sitting, and Clark had to smile slightly. His smiled quickly faded, though, and he tried to sit up.
"Mom and Dad-I have to let them know where I am."
She quickly pushed him down, much to his relief. The world spun slightly when he was upright, but stilled again when he was back on his back.
"I already did. I had to be pretty cryptic, though, and I think I may have just scared them."
"How did you.?"
"You number was in your wallet." Jenna pointed at a nearby chair, where his clothes were neatly stacked.
Clark blushed deeply. With the sheets up to his neck he hadn't noticed he was only in his boxers.
Jenna correctly interpreted his expression and rolled her eyes.
"Look, your clothes were soaking wet, and considering you haven't been able to keep anything down I figured it was safer to leave them off."
"Makes sense," Clark mumbled.
"I haven't threatened your virtue or anything, so don't worry about it," she said testily. "There're more important things we have to discuss. Had you ever seen either of those men before?"
Clark closed his eyes, trying to focus. He visualized himself bending down to change the tire on the truck, the man appearing, and the stabbing pain in his shoulder. He quickly raised his hand to that spot and felt a thick bandage. He opened his eyes again.
"It left quite a welt," she explained. "For a while I thought it was getting infected, but I think it's just your body trying to heal itself. It's not nice to look at, though."
Clark rubbed the spot absently.
"No, I don't know who they were. But they must have been following me."
"Who knows about you, Clark? About what you can do?"
"Just my mom and dad, and my best friend, Pete. No one else." He closed his eyes again. "I feel awful. I've never felt so lousy in my whole life."
"You've been poisoned, Clark. You're lucky to be alive."
"I want to go home." He tried not to sound childish, but he couldn't help it.
Jenna's expression softened a bit. "I know you do, kid. I just wanted to be sure we weren't followed. I think it would be safe to take you home tomorrow."
Clark nodded mutely. As Jenna rose, though, he called after her.
"Jenna? Thanks. I really appreciate you rescuing me."
She shook her head ruefully. "I thought you didn't remember anything."
"I remember bits and pieces."
"It wasn't any big deal, Clark. I'm sure you'd have done the same for me."
"You'll have to tell me the whole story sometime, promise?"
Jenna grinned. "Promise."
*****************************
Jenna glanced in the rear view mirror. Clark was asleep again, wrapped in a blanket and stretched out across the back seat of Professor Gunderson's BMW. She had permission to use the car if she needed to, and she considered this just such a situation. She hadn't wanted to risk going back to the side street where she'd left her Jeep the night she'd saved Clark. Anyway, a BMW had a much smoother ride than a Jeep with lousy shocks.
Acre after acre of cornfields rolled by, periodically interrupted by incongruous housing developments. Truly, rural American at its finest.
The highway skirted downtown Smallville, so she didn't get to see much of the place before it turned back into farmland. She hastily checked the map Clark had sketched for her and turned off onto Rural Route 1, which would take her right past the Kent farm.
Jenna was many things, but she liked to think foolish wasn't one of them.
So then why was she going to the trouble of bringing the kid all the way home when she could have just stuck him on the bus?
Actually, that was an easy question to answer. If Clark had gotten sick again, if he'd started burning with fever and convulsing the way he had that first night, he could very well break someone's arms, or worse. She still had bruises on her forearms from trying to hold him down, and she never bruised. A delirious Clark was definitely a dangerous Clark.
And she wanted to make sure he arrived safely. She wasn't a telepath, so she hadn't been able to determine the motives of the two men who'd attacked Clark. But the fact that they'd know just how to disable him lead her to think it was no random act of violence.
Of course there was the distinct possibility Dr. Garner was behind the whole thing.
That was what bothered her the most.
She was focusing so intently on the puzzle that she almost passed the yellow farmhouse on the right side of the road. She quickly braked and turned sharply into the driveway. The movement jolted Clark awake.
"Huh?"
"We just passed under a sign saying 'Kent Farm,'" she told him. "I'd say you are home, kid."
She pulled the car to a stop in front of the wide front porch. The farm was picture perfect, really, complete with a windmill and a large red barn.
"You didn't tell me you lived in a Currier and Ives print, Clark."
Clark smiled back at her.
She opened the driver's side door and stepped out. Their arrival had already been noted: a tall, fair-haired man, his face deeply lined from years in the sun, was striding across the open space between the house and the barn.
He pulled off his leather work gloves and looked at her sharply.
Jenna just looked back.
An auburn-haired woman appeared on the porch, hurrying down the stairs to where the man stood. Unlike her husband, Mrs. Kent-at least Jenna assumed this was Mrs. Kent-had no trouble speaking.
"Where is Clark? Is he all right?"
"I'm all right, Mom," Clark said weakly, pushing the rear door open and standing up.
Mrs. Kent rushed to her son and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him off his feet. She shot a worried glanced at her husband, and pressed a hand to her son's forehead.
"You're cold as ice, Clark. Let's get you upstairs."
Mr. Kent went to his son and took his free arm, helping to support him.
"Hey, Dad," Clark smiled.
"Clark," his father nodded sternly.
With both parents helping steady him Clark made his way into the house. Jenna reckoned that to people who knew the Kents' this would be a strange sight indeed: the parents helping hold up a boy who was taller, broader, and heavier than either of them.
"Don't hurt yourself, Mom," Clark said quietly. "Let Jenna help me- she's a lot stronger than you are."
However, Martha Kent shot Jenna a venomous glance that told her she'd best stay where she was.
"I'm just fine, Clark," his mother insisted.
Jenna sighed inwardly, but nonetheless followed the family to the upper level of the house. Clark's room looked out over the road. Like any other teenager's room it had lots of posters and books and an old computer, this one sitting on a card table.
His parents carefully sat him down on the edge of his bed, and Clark lay on his back with a sigh.
"Thanks, guys. I really just need to sleep."
Mrs. Kent hurriedly gathered a pile of blankets and heaped them on her son.
"Is that warm enough, honey?"
But Clark was already asleep again, so Jenna answered for him.
"He'll probably start running a fever again in a few hours, and then he'll be roasting." When both the Kents looked at her she shrugged. "That's how it's been going."
Mrs. Kent started to unbutton her son's shirt, but stopped when she found the bandage.
"Jonathan, come and look at this." She shot an accusing glance at Jenna. "What is this?"
"Mrs. Kent, you probably shouldn't."
But the older woman was already peeling off the bandage.
"Oh my God," her husband said for both of them.
The site of the injection was still raised and raw, criss-crossed with streaks of green, the same green that had been in the hypodermic. The wound was weeping pale green fluid flecked with red blood, which had stained the inside of the gauze bandage.
Martha Kent had her hand clamped over her mouth, but Jonathan Kent looked over his shoulder at Jenna. His expression was perfectly still, but Jenna could sense he was waiting for one wrong move on her part.
Of course she could have eluded on angry farmer effortlessly, but he didn't know that, and she had to respect their rights as parents.
"I think we should probably let Clark sleep. If we go back downstairs I'll explain everything to you. At least, everything I know."
********************************
Jonathan watched the young women across the table carefully. She looked like any other young woman in her early twenties: blue jeans, wavy auburn hair brushed until it shone. The only thing that might have given her away were the brown eyes, far too knowing and world-weary for someone so young. But if he had passed her on the street, Jonathan had to admit he'd have had no clue what she was.
Of course, living in Smallville had quickly taught him that appearances counted for very little. She had brought Clark home to them, and he was willing, at least temporarily, to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Martha, too, had finally softened and offered the woman a cup of coffee. Now they both sat listening to Jenna's rather incredible story.
"I don't understand-why do you think Dr. Garner is involved?" Martha asked.
"I don't, not for sure. But if Garner is looking for more subjects, he might assume Clark's connection to Ryan means Clark has abilities as well."
Jonathan frowned. "But Clark isn't psychic. At least, not yet."
"But Garner wouldn't know that. Fortunately I don't think he's figured out that there are other kinds of abilities than just mental ones." Jenna looked troubled. "At least I hope he hasn't."
"I just wish we knew what those men gave Clark. They might have killed him, and he still might get worse instead of better," Martha fretted.
"I sent a sample for analysis. We should know in a few days."
Jonathan set down his mug with a thump.
"You did what?"
"Don't worry-there are people I can trust."
"You don't have the right to share my son's secret with anyone."
"I didn't say anything about Clark-just that I wanted to know the contents of that syringe." Jenna frowned. "Look, I didn't want to get involved in your son's life, but I am. What are you going to do, kill me and stuff my body under the porch?" She smiled wryly. "Believe me, Mr. Kent, you couldn't kill me if you tried."
"Jonathan just means that we've tried to keep Clark's abilities quiet as best we can." Martha glanced over at her husband. "By finding you it seems that Clark's gotten into something way over his head."
"Maybe." The younger woman leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I wish I could give you some straight answers, but I can't. I don't know who those two men were, or why they wanted Clark, any more than he does."
Jonathan rubbed his face with his hands. "You say this friend of yours.the one you took Clark to see."
"Jack."
"That Jack can read minds, like Ryan could."
"Among other things."
"And that Garner's experiments caused some kind of damage to his brain."
"I keep hoping the damage isn't permanent, but so far he hasn't come out of it."
"Well, then I suppose we should be grateful whoever made the attempt on Clark's life didn't succeed. Maybe it was Garner, maybe it wasn't, but clearly somebody out there is after my son."
Jonathan pushed back his chair. "Speaking of which, I'm going to go check on him again."
Martha watched her husband leave the room, and sighed.
"My husband's trying very hard to deal with this," she told Jenna as she refilled her cup. "It kills him that he can't spare Clark all of this."
"I guess that's understandable. But, Mrs. Kent, if something like this should happen again.well, I doubt you or your husband would be able to stop it."
Martha nodded. "I know. And that's the worst knowledge a parent can have." She was thoughtful for a long moment.
"Ms. Iverson-Jenna-if you don't mind me asking, how many other people like you are there?"
Jenna raised her eyebrows. "People like me? You mean, freaks? Mutations? Metahumans? Whatever you want to call us? I don't actually know. We're not exactly included on the census, you know."
"But you said your friend Jack found you."
"Some of us are better at spotting others. Look, what you have to understand is that most people with special abilities go to great lengths to hide them. They have jobs, families, homes-what do you think would happen if it got out that there were people around who could do extraordinary things, things no human should be able to do?"
Martha shook her head. "I'd like to think people would be accepting, but from what I've seen of human nature so far, I wouldn't bet on that."
Jenna nodded. "Exactly. So we stay hidden. We avoid each other, like I tried to avoid your son when I first encountered him."
Martha laid a hand on Jenna's arm.
"So you think Clark is a, uh, what did you call it? A meta."
"Metahuman. Hot term in scientific circles at the moment, more politically correct and less scary-sounding than 'mutant.' And, no, I don't think he is."
"So what do you think he is?"
The girl looked puzzled. "I'm not sure. All I know is that my ability to affect memory doesn't work on him. And I've never had that happen before."
Martha sat up straighter in her chair.
"So you can't connect with his mind at all?"
"I didn't say that. There's definitely something there, but I can't make sense of it. It's like." Jenna searched for the right metaphor. "It's like he's Mac and I'm PC. Two different operating systems, if that makes any sense."
"Clark's still sound asleep," Jonathan announced as he reappeared on the stairs. He shot the visitor a look. "And he does seem to be running a fever-I took some of the blankets off of him."
"That's about all you can do. But the fever shouldn't get very high this time. I do think his body is trying to heal itself, but whatever they injected him with is slowing down the process." Jenna twisted slightly in her chair. "I have a feeling whatever turned the substance in that needle green is something Clark's encountered before. Am I right?"
Jonathan and his wife exchanged a significant look, which Jenna instantly recognized.
"Look, I'm not going to demand you tell me who or what Clark is. I realize it's probably best if I don't know."
Martha shook her head. "It's.complicated. But, yes, if it's what we think it is Clark's been exposed to it before, and it almost killed him. Please try to understand, Jenna--Jonathan and I have always been afraid that if someone knew about Clark they'd take him away from us."
"I do understand, Mrs. Kent, but this is Clark's life we're talking about."
Jonathan cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm wondering why you don't seem worried about telling us your story, Ms. Iverson. Surely that puts you at risk, too?"
"I don't see it that way. For one thing, Clark already knows, and I know he'd already told you his suspicions. So there was no point in my lying to you." She folded her hands on the scarred wood table.
"And, anyway, so what if you did tell people about me? It would be my word against yours, and I've got dozens of friends in Metropolis who will swear up and down than I'm quite ordinary."
Martha looked sympathetic. "So you haven't told people, either?"
"Oh, God, no. That's the last thing I need. My father knows, of course. And I've told a few other people I can trust, who either have abilities themselves or know people who do. But that's as far as I intend to let it go."
Jonathan seemed mollified by her answer. "If you don't mind me asking, do you know how.I mean, what happened.?"
Jenna didn't look offended, and just shrugged. "I was born this way. There's no history of unusual abilities in my family, and neither of my parents had any. It just happened."
Jonathan could see his wife unconsciously rubbing her stomach, where their unborn child lay. When Martha spoke next it was with a great deal of tenderness in her voice.
"And your parents.?"
"My mother died when I was a baby, so I don't know how she would have handled it. And my father, being a geneticist, is probably more understanding than most parents would be. He knows I can't help what's written into my DNA. Unfortunately, a lot of parents-and people in general- aren't very supportive. Jack said his parents never said anything to him about it, never wanted to discuss what he could do. He always felt they were afraid of him."
"How terrible for a child to grow up like that," Martha shook her head.
Jenna smiled a crooked grin. "Yeah, well, unfortunately we can't exactly go out there and start a support group, now can we?"
The phone rang, and Jonathan jumped up to answer it.
"Mr. Kent?"
Pete Ross was on the other end of the line, and he sounded slightly out of breath.
"Mr. Kent, I just got in and my dad said you left a message for me to call back right away. Is Clark.?"
"Clark's just fine, Pete. He's in bed now-he's not feeling well."
"Clark not feeling well? Whoa. Do you know what it is?"
Jonathan glanced over at his wife and their guest.
"It's a very long story, Pete-we probably don't need to get into it over the phone."
Pete took the hint instantly. "Right, yeah, I can just swing by tomorrow or something, if that's ok?"
"Of course, Pete. I'm sure Clark would like to see you."
"Great. And, um, Mr. Kent? Can I tell Chloe and Lana Clark's home? I haven't said anything to them, but they couldn't help but notice he's missed a couple days of school, and Chloe's been helping me look for Jenna Iverson."
"I think that would be all right, Pete. Just don't go into too much detail."
Pete sighed loudly. "No problem. Tell Clark I'm glad he's back and I'll see him tomorrow."
"Will do, Pete. Thanks."
Jonathan hung up the phone.
"That was Clark's best friend, Pete," he explained to Jenna. "He's going to cover for Clark as best he can with Chloe and Lana," he told his wife.
Martha smiled. "Oh, good." Then her smiled faded. "If Clark had been missing much longer."
Jonathan approached the table and laid a hand on his wife's shoulder
"But he wasn't."
He gave their guest a level look.
"We appreciate everything you've done, Jenna. We'll deal with whatever happens next when it happens. But Clark's home. And to us, that's the most important thing in the world."
He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as dirt. Glancing over to one side, he could see a pitcher of water and a glass, but he was too tired and sore to reach for it. He wondered where he was, and how long he had lain there. His memory seem oddly fuzzy.
"So you're awake again. Good."
Startled by the voice, Clark looked up to see Jenna Iverson leaning against the door jam. She was wearing a black sweater, which seemed odd, because the last time they had met she'd been wearing red. But his head hurt too much to make sense of it.
He opened his mouth. "Water," he said feebly. Even to his own ears his voice sounded like it belonged to an old man.
"Thirsty, huh? That must be a good sign."
She sat on the edge of the bed and poured him a glass, holding his head so he could drink the blessedly cool liquid.
When his thirst was sated, he frowned up at her.
"How long have I been here?"
"Don't you remember? Almost three days."
"Three days?" He croaked.
"It was late Thursday night when I brought you here. It's Sunday now."
Clark tried to remember, but everything seemed a blur.
"Have I been running a fever?" That was the one illness he could relate to, having had one for the first time in his life a few weeks before.
"Off and on. One minute you'd be burning up, and the next freezing." She gestured at the pile of blankets and quilts at the foot of the bed. "I think whatever they gave you affected your body's internal thermostat, so to speak."
"Where am I?"
"I thought it would be best if we hid out until I figure out who's after you. This is the apartment of one of my professors: he's on sabbatical in Germany and I've been looking after it. You should be thankful, because it's way nicer than my place."
This was more words than he'd ever heard Jenna string together in one sitting, and Clark had to smile slightly. His smiled quickly faded, though, and he tried to sit up.
"Mom and Dad-I have to let them know where I am."
She quickly pushed him down, much to his relief. The world spun slightly when he was upright, but stilled again when he was back on his back.
"I already did. I had to be pretty cryptic, though, and I think I may have just scared them."
"How did you.?"
"You number was in your wallet." Jenna pointed at a nearby chair, where his clothes were neatly stacked.
Clark blushed deeply. With the sheets up to his neck he hadn't noticed he was only in his boxers.
Jenna correctly interpreted his expression and rolled her eyes.
"Look, your clothes were soaking wet, and considering you haven't been able to keep anything down I figured it was safer to leave them off."
"Makes sense," Clark mumbled.
"I haven't threatened your virtue or anything, so don't worry about it," she said testily. "There're more important things we have to discuss. Had you ever seen either of those men before?"
Clark closed his eyes, trying to focus. He visualized himself bending down to change the tire on the truck, the man appearing, and the stabbing pain in his shoulder. He quickly raised his hand to that spot and felt a thick bandage. He opened his eyes again.
"It left quite a welt," she explained. "For a while I thought it was getting infected, but I think it's just your body trying to heal itself. It's not nice to look at, though."
Clark rubbed the spot absently.
"No, I don't know who they were. But they must have been following me."
"Who knows about you, Clark? About what you can do?"
"Just my mom and dad, and my best friend, Pete. No one else." He closed his eyes again. "I feel awful. I've never felt so lousy in my whole life."
"You've been poisoned, Clark. You're lucky to be alive."
"I want to go home." He tried not to sound childish, but he couldn't help it.
Jenna's expression softened a bit. "I know you do, kid. I just wanted to be sure we weren't followed. I think it would be safe to take you home tomorrow."
Clark nodded mutely. As Jenna rose, though, he called after her.
"Jenna? Thanks. I really appreciate you rescuing me."
She shook her head ruefully. "I thought you didn't remember anything."
"I remember bits and pieces."
"It wasn't any big deal, Clark. I'm sure you'd have done the same for me."
"You'll have to tell me the whole story sometime, promise?"
Jenna grinned. "Promise."
*****************************
Jenna glanced in the rear view mirror. Clark was asleep again, wrapped in a blanket and stretched out across the back seat of Professor Gunderson's BMW. She had permission to use the car if she needed to, and she considered this just such a situation. She hadn't wanted to risk going back to the side street where she'd left her Jeep the night she'd saved Clark. Anyway, a BMW had a much smoother ride than a Jeep with lousy shocks.
Acre after acre of cornfields rolled by, periodically interrupted by incongruous housing developments. Truly, rural American at its finest.
The highway skirted downtown Smallville, so she didn't get to see much of the place before it turned back into farmland. She hastily checked the map Clark had sketched for her and turned off onto Rural Route 1, which would take her right past the Kent farm.
Jenna was many things, but she liked to think foolish wasn't one of them.
So then why was she going to the trouble of bringing the kid all the way home when she could have just stuck him on the bus?
Actually, that was an easy question to answer. If Clark had gotten sick again, if he'd started burning with fever and convulsing the way he had that first night, he could very well break someone's arms, or worse. She still had bruises on her forearms from trying to hold him down, and she never bruised. A delirious Clark was definitely a dangerous Clark.
And she wanted to make sure he arrived safely. She wasn't a telepath, so she hadn't been able to determine the motives of the two men who'd attacked Clark. But the fact that they'd know just how to disable him lead her to think it was no random act of violence.
Of course there was the distinct possibility Dr. Garner was behind the whole thing.
That was what bothered her the most.
She was focusing so intently on the puzzle that she almost passed the yellow farmhouse on the right side of the road. She quickly braked and turned sharply into the driveway. The movement jolted Clark awake.
"Huh?"
"We just passed under a sign saying 'Kent Farm,'" she told him. "I'd say you are home, kid."
She pulled the car to a stop in front of the wide front porch. The farm was picture perfect, really, complete with a windmill and a large red barn.
"You didn't tell me you lived in a Currier and Ives print, Clark."
Clark smiled back at her.
She opened the driver's side door and stepped out. Their arrival had already been noted: a tall, fair-haired man, his face deeply lined from years in the sun, was striding across the open space between the house and the barn.
He pulled off his leather work gloves and looked at her sharply.
Jenna just looked back.
An auburn-haired woman appeared on the porch, hurrying down the stairs to where the man stood. Unlike her husband, Mrs. Kent-at least Jenna assumed this was Mrs. Kent-had no trouble speaking.
"Where is Clark? Is he all right?"
"I'm all right, Mom," Clark said weakly, pushing the rear door open and standing up.
Mrs. Kent rushed to her son and threw her arms around him, nearly knocking him off his feet. She shot a worried glanced at her husband, and pressed a hand to her son's forehead.
"You're cold as ice, Clark. Let's get you upstairs."
Mr. Kent went to his son and took his free arm, helping to support him.
"Hey, Dad," Clark smiled.
"Clark," his father nodded sternly.
With both parents helping steady him Clark made his way into the house. Jenna reckoned that to people who knew the Kents' this would be a strange sight indeed: the parents helping hold up a boy who was taller, broader, and heavier than either of them.
"Don't hurt yourself, Mom," Clark said quietly. "Let Jenna help me- she's a lot stronger than you are."
However, Martha Kent shot Jenna a venomous glance that told her she'd best stay where she was.
"I'm just fine, Clark," his mother insisted.
Jenna sighed inwardly, but nonetheless followed the family to the upper level of the house. Clark's room looked out over the road. Like any other teenager's room it had lots of posters and books and an old computer, this one sitting on a card table.
His parents carefully sat him down on the edge of his bed, and Clark lay on his back with a sigh.
"Thanks, guys. I really just need to sleep."
Mrs. Kent hurriedly gathered a pile of blankets and heaped them on her son.
"Is that warm enough, honey?"
But Clark was already asleep again, so Jenna answered for him.
"He'll probably start running a fever again in a few hours, and then he'll be roasting." When both the Kents looked at her she shrugged. "That's how it's been going."
Mrs. Kent started to unbutton her son's shirt, but stopped when she found the bandage.
"Jonathan, come and look at this." She shot an accusing glance at Jenna. "What is this?"
"Mrs. Kent, you probably shouldn't."
But the older woman was already peeling off the bandage.
"Oh my God," her husband said for both of them.
The site of the injection was still raised and raw, criss-crossed with streaks of green, the same green that had been in the hypodermic. The wound was weeping pale green fluid flecked with red blood, which had stained the inside of the gauze bandage.
Martha Kent had her hand clamped over her mouth, but Jonathan Kent looked over his shoulder at Jenna. His expression was perfectly still, but Jenna could sense he was waiting for one wrong move on her part.
Of course she could have eluded on angry farmer effortlessly, but he didn't know that, and she had to respect their rights as parents.
"I think we should probably let Clark sleep. If we go back downstairs I'll explain everything to you. At least, everything I know."
********************************
Jonathan watched the young women across the table carefully. She looked like any other young woman in her early twenties: blue jeans, wavy auburn hair brushed until it shone. The only thing that might have given her away were the brown eyes, far too knowing and world-weary for someone so young. But if he had passed her on the street, Jonathan had to admit he'd have had no clue what she was.
Of course, living in Smallville had quickly taught him that appearances counted for very little. She had brought Clark home to them, and he was willing, at least temporarily, to give her the benefit of the doubt.
Martha, too, had finally softened and offered the woman a cup of coffee. Now they both sat listening to Jenna's rather incredible story.
"I don't understand-why do you think Dr. Garner is involved?" Martha asked.
"I don't, not for sure. But if Garner is looking for more subjects, he might assume Clark's connection to Ryan means Clark has abilities as well."
Jonathan frowned. "But Clark isn't psychic. At least, not yet."
"But Garner wouldn't know that. Fortunately I don't think he's figured out that there are other kinds of abilities than just mental ones." Jenna looked troubled. "At least I hope he hasn't."
"I just wish we knew what those men gave Clark. They might have killed him, and he still might get worse instead of better," Martha fretted.
"I sent a sample for analysis. We should know in a few days."
Jonathan set down his mug with a thump.
"You did what?"
"Don't worry-there are people I can trust."
"You don't have the right to share my son's secret with anyone."
"I didn't say anything about Clark-just that I wanted to know the contents of that syringe." Jenna frowned. "Look, I didn't want to get involved in your son's life, but I am. What are you going to do, kill me and stuff my body under the porch?" She smiled wryly. "Believe me, Mr. Kent, you couldn't kill me if you tried."
"Jonathan just means that we've tried to keep Clark's abilities quiet as best we can." Martha glanced over at her husband. "By finding you it seems that Clark's gotten into something way over his head."
"Maybe." The younger woman leaned back in her chair and sighed. "I wish I could give you some straight answers, but I can't. I don't know who those two men were, or why they wanted Clark, any more than he does."
Jonathan rubbed his face with his hands. "You say this friend of yours.the one you took Clark to see."
"Jack."
"That Jack can read minds, like Ryan could."
"Among other things."
"And that Garner's experiments caused some kind of damage to his brain."
"I keep hoping the damage isn't permanent, but so far he hasn't come out of it."
"Well, then I suppose we should be grateful whoever made the attempt on Clark's life didn't succeed. Maybe it was Garner, maybe it wasn't, but clearly somebody out there is after my son."
Jonathan pushed back his chair. "Speaking of which, I'm going to go check on him again."
Martha watched her husband leave the room, and sighed.
"My husband's trying very hard to deal with this," she told Jenna as she refilled her cup. "It kills him that he can't spare Clark all of this."
"I guess that's understandable. But, Mrs. Kent, if something like this should happen again.well, I doubt you or your husband would be able to stop it."
Martha nodded. "I know. And that's the worst knowledge a parent can have." She was thoughtful for a long moment.
"Ms. Iverson-Jenna-if you don't mind me asking, how many other people like you are there?"
Jenna raised her eyebrows. "People like me? You mean, freaks? Mutations? Metahumans? Whatever you want to call us? I don't actually know. We're not exactly included on the census, you know."
"But you said your friend Jack found you."
"Some of us are better at spotting others. Look, what you have to understand is that most people with special abilities go to great lengths to hide them. They have jobs, families, homes-what do you think would happen if it got out that there were people around who could do extraordinary things, things no human should be able to do?"
Martha shook her head. "I'd like to think people would be accepting, but from what I've seen of human nature so far, I wouldn't bet on that."
Jenna nodded. "Exactly. So we stay hidden. We avoid each other, like I tried to avoid your son when I first encountered him."
Martha laid a hand on Jenna's arm.
"So you think Clark is a, uh, what did you call it? A meta."
"Metahuman. Hot term in scientific circles at the moment, more politically correct and less scary-sounding than 'mutant.' And, no, I don't think he is."
"So what do you think he is?"
The girl looked puzzled. "I'm not sure. All I know is that my ability to affect memory doesn't work on him. And I've never had that happen before."
Martha sat up straighter in her chair.
"So you can't connect with his mind at all?"
"I didn't say that. There's definitely something there, but I can't make sense of it. It's like." Jenna searched for the right metaphor. "It's like he's Mac and I'm PC. Two different operating systems, if that makes any sense."
"Clark's still sound asleep," Jonathan announced as he reappeared on the stairs. He shot the visitor a look. "And he does seem to be running a fever-I took some of the blankets off of him."
"That's about all you can do. But the fever shouldn't get very high this time. I do think his body is trying to heal itself, but whatever they injected him with is slowing down the process." Jenna twisted slightly in her chair. "I have a feeling whatever turned the substance in that needle green is something Clark's encountered before. Am I right?"
Jonathan and his wife exchanged a significant look, which Jenna instantly recognized.
"Look, I'm not going to demand you tell me who or what Clark is. I realize it's probably best if I don't know."
Martha shook her head. "It's.complicated. But, yes, if it's what we think it is Clark's been exposed to it before, and it almost killed him. Please try to understand, Jenna--Jonathan and I have always been afraid that if someone knew about Clark they'd take him away from us."
"I do understand, Mrs. Kent, but this is Clark's life we're talking about."
Jonathan cleared his throat. "Actually, I'm wondering why you don't seem worried about telling us your story, Ms. Iverson. Surely that puts you at risk, too?"
"I don't see it that way. For one thing, Clark already knows, and I know he'd already told you his suspicions. So there was no point in my lying to you." She folded her hands on the scarred wood table.
"And, anyway, so what if you did tell people about me? It would be my word against yours, and I've got dozens of friends in Metropolis who will swear up and down than I'm quite ordinary."
Martha looked sympathetic. "So you haven't told people, either?"
"Oh, God, no. That's the last thing I need. My father knows, of course. And I've told a few other people I can trust, who either have abilities themselves or know people who do. But that's as far as I intend to let it go."
Jonathan seemed mollified by her answer. "If you don't mind me asking, do you know how.I mean, what happened.?"
Jenna didn't look offended, and just shrugged. "I was born this way. There's no history of unusual abilities in my family, and neither of my parents had any. It just happened."
Jonathan could see his wife unconsciously rubbing her stomach, where their unborn child lay. When Martha spoke next it was with a great deal of tenderness in her voice.
"And your parents.?"
"My mother died when I was a baby, so I don't know how she would have handled it. And my father, being a geneticist, is probably more understanding than most parents would be. He knows I can't help what's written into my DNA. Unfortunately, a lot of parents-and people in general- aren't very supportive. Jack said his parents never said anything to him about it, never wanted to discuss what he could do. He always felt they were afraid of him."
"How terrible for a child to grow up like that," Martha shook her head.
Jenna smiled a crooked grin. "Yeah, well, unfortunately we can't exactly go out there and start a support group, now can we?"
The phone rang, and Jonathan jumped up to answer it.
"Mr. Kent?"
Pete Ross was on the other end of the line, and he sounded slightly out of breath.
"Mr. Kent, I just got in and my dad said you left a message for me to call back right away. Is Clark.?"
"Clark's just fine, Pete. He's in bed now-he's not feeling well."
"Clark not feeling well? Whoa. Do you know what it is?"
Jonathan glanced over at his wife and their guest.
"It's a very long story, Pete-we probably don't need to get into it over the phone."
Pete took the hint instantly. "Right, yeah, I can just swing by tomorrow or something, if that's ok?"
"Of course, Pete. I'm sure Clark would like to see you."
"Great. And, um, Mr. Kent? Can I tell Chloe and Lana Clark's home? I haven't said anything to them, but they couldn't help but notice he's missed a couple days of school, and Chloe's been helping me look for Jenna Iverson."
"I think that would be all right, Pete. Just don't go into too much detail."
Pete sighed loudly. "No problem. Tell Clark I'm glad he's back and I'll see him tomorrow."
"Will do, Pete. Thanks."
Jonathan hung up the phone.
"That was Clark's best friend, Pete," he explained to Jenna. "He's going to cover for Clark as best he can with Chloe and Lana," he told his wife.
Martha smiled. "Oh, good." Then her smiled faded. "If Clark had been missing much longer."
Jonathan approached the table and laid a hand on his wife's shoulder
"But he wasn't."
He gave their guest a level look.
"We appreciate everything you've done, Jenna. We'll deal with whatever happens next when it happens. But Clark's home. And to us, that's the most important thing in the world."