[Supreme Court, Trial, Part 38]
Goldstein, Lex's attorney, completed his questioning of the Crime Scene Unit technician, a 20-something Latino.
"So the hair follicle you discovered on the bloodied overalls belonged to this AWOL soldier, Wallace Johnson?"
"That's correct, sir," the technician replied.
Goldstein turned to the jury. "This soldier – who I should add is currently on the lam – was but one of a virtual army of 60 part-time security personnel hired by Luthor Corp., out of at least a dozen firms in the City of New York." He turned again to the technician. "So there is no physical evidence linking Lex Luthor to the crime?"
"Well, no," the technician answered, "but –"
"Thank you, that's all," Goldstein concluded dismissively as he took his seat again. The CSU technician was excused from the stand.
"Does the defendant plan to take the stand at this point?" the judge asked.
"No. The defense rests, your Honour," Goldstein stated. He managed to convince Lex not to take the stand. There were too many sordid tales in Lex's youth that Jack McCoy could unearth. Those bloodied overalls may have Johnson's DNA, he believed, but nothing linked Lex to it. Clark's testimony -- though unnerving -- was not enough to tie Lex to murder.
Lex glanced behind him at Martha, who was assigned there as Luthor Corp.'s observer. She didn't like the role she had to play as Lionel's corporate snoop. But she didn't believe Lex was guilty. If he had to be faulted, it was in not applying his infamous attention to detail to the hiring process. A Luthor would have immediately weeded out bad apples who could harm the family empire. A soldier on the run – with no loyalty to person or country – could hardly be trusted with the security of Luthor property. How did Wallace Johnson slip through the rigid employee screening?
Martha offered a comforting smile to the accused. What more could I do, she feared. Lex was at the condo during the timeframe of the murder. Apparently, there was a motive. Something about chemical shipments.
Then D.A. McCoy and Ms. Southerlyn arrived. Martha was still disturbed that the D.A. used Clark as a trial tactic: to cast doubt on Lex's claim that he had no vested interest in whatever Chelsea Saunders knew about those shipments. Clark might have known Lex was irritated at a disloyal employee, but there's no way he would lie about a murder.
Unfortunately, 'thou shalt not kill' was one commandment the Luthors could break – if the stakes were high enough.
Judge Fitzwater adjusted the spectacles on his nose. "Do the people intend to call another witness today?" he inquired.
Southerlyn looked at McCoy, who seemed to be focused on the wall behind the judge.
Jack paused. He had called all the witnesses he had wanted. The condo staff, Luthor Corp. employees, the homicide detectives and the forensics experts. Today was a good day. People could lie; science could not. That strand, that piece of hair – now confirmed by the CSU – held the irrefutable DNA link to Wallace Johnson, Luthor Corp. security guard.
Clark Kent's testimony was more of a gamble. He knew that he risked the ire of the Luthors and their political allies. Both Arthur and Serena had cautioned him about the dangers of coming down hard on Lex's best friend.
It was regrettable, but justified in his mind. Lex Luthor – with his father's bottomless legal funding – was going to buy his freedom.
Serena did the state's work admirably when she traveled to Smallville, a middle-American town with supposedly middle-American values. But it was a company town, he scoffed, and that company was Luthor Corp. A community bonded by a web of lies. The affidavits of Clark's friends all alluded to this: from Lana's account of her business dealings with Lex, to Pete's account of Lionel Luthor's abusive influence in town.
"He's bad news," Pete had proclaimed in his affidavit. Even the town mayor was in Lionel's pocket.
And Chloe Sullivan, intrepid reporter of the school paper. He had laughed when he read about the so-called Wall of Weird. He couldn't believe that she accepted some of that UFO stuff as plausible scientific theory.
"These events all have one common denominator: the green meteor rocks that showered the town over a decade ago," she had reported clinically.
Meteor rocks seemed to be around these inexplicable accidents. That was true. But she missed one thing. Jack had read the archived stories of the Smallville Ledger. Clark Kent's name showed up. Often. He was known to the local sheriff.
Did that make him a criminal, he wondered. No, it didn't, though it would be tempting to dig further into the Kent family history.
Clark Kent's repeated involvement in Smallville's intrigues did cast doubt on his credibility. Goldstein was wrong: Clark was not some country bumpkin who knew little about the urban jungle. He was a smart kid who was loyal to his friend. Despite Serena's observation that Jonathan Kent was a man of integrity, Clark chose friendship with Lex Luthor. Why would Clark place his trust in a Luthor, whose family Kent Sr. is supposed to detest?
That was why he ignored Serena's suggestion that he limit his questions to Clark's correspondence with Lex. Jack cornered him on the stand. Clark flubbed his answers, giving the impression that he knew more than he was letting on. And it wasn't just a case of nerves. He was the last person Lex talked to before Chelsea was killed.
The renegade soldier may have slashed the victim, Jack grimaced, but it was Lex who must have executed the plot and the cover-up.
"Jack?" Serena prodded. McCoy put aside his thoughts and focused on the proceedings once more.
McCoy adjusted his jacket and stood up. "The people rest, your Honour."
He felt he could trace every thread of a Luthor conspiracy to hide its shadowy secrets. Interpol had raided a cargo vessel off the coast of Greece this weekend. It was a joint operation with the FBI – and Major Case Squad Detective Alexandra Eames. They uncovered high volumes of chemicals destined for eastern Europe, but it was too early to tell if it was merely fertilizer. Time was still on their side.
Clark's testimony, while dramatic, was not the coup de grace. They had the murder weapon, the bloodied overalls and were hunting for the accomplice. The FedEx package held the motive.
It was the deathstroke -- and Lex Luthor knew it, McCoy nodded.
Chelsea Saunders would not take her secret to the grave, if the Major Case Squad had anything to say about it.
Judge Fitzwater frowned, apparently weary of the trial's complexities. "This court will resume tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp for closing arguments."
With the pound of a gavel, the trial day was over. Martha immediately rushed towards McCoy.
"Clark knew nothing about a murder, Mr. McCoy," Martha insisted.
"This is highly improper, Mrs. Kent," McCoy replied. "You're on retainer for the defense. I'm not at liberty to discuss anything about your son."
"I just want to know if Clark is doing alright," Martha demanded.
Southerlyn interrupted. "Clark's doing fine. He's at the hotel. The last time I was there, he was at his hotel suite playing some NBA video game with Fin Tutuola. He'll be alright, Mrs. Kent."
Serena wanted to believe that Clark was as honest and virtuous as his parents believed him to be. She sensed no hidden agenda from either of the Kent parents, although they were reserved about Clark's personal life. Was he a good kid led astray by the vile Lex Luthor, as suggested by a Gotham Post editorial? Or was he an intelligent, above-average young man who was prepared to lie under oath to protect his best friend?
We've done our job, she thought. After closing arguments, the jury will decide the fate of Lex Luthor.
[Major Case Squad, One Police Plaza, NYC]
McCoy entered Captain James Deakins' office. D.A. Carver and Detective Goren were already there.
"So, how goes the battle of wills with Lex Luthor?" Carver inquired.
"The Luthors are suing everyone except the hot dog vendors, it seems." McCoy began. "How good it turns out depends on what you have," McCoy began. "It'll either be close – or a slam dunk."
Goren carried a large stack of files, then placed it on a chair beside McCoy.
"Those, Mr. McCoy, are the shipping manifests and inventories of all Luthor- owned or affiliated vessels that embarked from the Port of New York over the past twelve months," Goren revealed. "I took the liberty of annotating the files of those ships that carried chemicals, which could be used to manufacture WMDs – if combined in the proper quantities. No confirmations yet, but we're working on it."
"Is that all?" McCoy grinned, clearly impressed with Goren's investigative abilities.
"Did you know Luthor subsidiaries have warehouses throughout eastern Europe?" Goren added. "While Lex was holed up in one miserable boarding school after another, Lionel was doing his patriotic duty marketing American capitalism to partners behind the Iron Curtain."
McCoy grunted. "I bet that's not all he was marketing for Uncle Sam."
Goren pulled out another file. "The feds dropped that one off today. One vessel, the Artemis, paid a visit to Morocco, enroute to Albania. When Interpol caught it last year off the Sicilian coast, they found a shipload of Kalashnikov rifles. Lionel's partners had them made for, like, $20 each in North Africa and were shipping them to parties unknown. No questions asked."
"We've notified the U.S. Attorney," Carver stated. "As you can see, Ms. Saunders opened up a thousand dirty little secrets for us. Get that conviction, Jack, and we will do our best to bring Luthor Corp. to its knees."
Lionel would answer for his global arms merchandising, McCoy thought. But that fact wouldn't help Chelsea Saunders' family – if the jury had any doubt about Lex's guilt.
***
Governor Pataki had lifted the moratorium on the death penalty. The first man condemned to death would set an example. A warning to future offenders.
Lex Luthor found himself at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, New York In his orange prison uniform – the paper pajamas – Lex Luthor walked through the hallway with his arms and ankles in shackles.
"Dead man walking," the prison guard declared.
Death by lethal injection was the sentence. Lex still couldn't believe it. Guilty on all counts.
In the viewing gallery were the execution's witnesses. Detectives Briscoe and Green, who had found Chelsea Saunders' bloodied body so many months ago. D.A. Arthur Branch, who would ride this conviction to another electoral victory. And his supplicants: D.A. Serena Southerlyn, and Jack McCoy. Mrs. Saunders, the young woman's mother, sat there stone-faced.
Clark Kent, his best friend, seemed to be in denial. He couldn't believe Lex was going to die.
McCoy got exactly what he wanted. Lex grimaced. He was set up. He knew it! This was the result his father had expected.
No -- wanted. He would take the fall for his father's transgressions, while his father continued to reap the rewards of his illicit business practices.
As he was being strapped down onto the gurney, the prison chaplain tried to console the condemned man.
"Do you have any last words, my son?" the chaplain asked.
"I'm innocent! I didn't kill Chelsea Saunders!" Lex pleaded.
"Some words from the holy book to prepare you for the next world," the chaplain replied. Instead of sympathy, the chaplain's face appeared to be filled with hate. 'And I looked and behold a pale horse, and his name was Death. And Hell followed with him."
Lex struggled on the gurney, but the fasteners on his arm were too tight.
"I didn't kill her!" he yelled.
Briscoe hovered beside him. "They all say that. She died because of you. You knew what your father was capable of. You did nothing. You might as well have slit her throat yourself."
"That's not true!" Lex shook violently, but he couldn't break free.
"You should have taken the deal, Lex," McCoy announced, as he paced around the gurney. "Twenty-five at Sing Sing would have kept you alive."
Lex tried to yank his arm free, but it was no use.
"You killed my daughter, you son-of-a-bitch!" Mrs. Saunders screamed into his ear. "She had everything to live for. And you let it happen!" Beside her, D.A. Southerlyn shook her head in disappointment.
"Ms. Southerlyn, you've been to Smallville," Lex blurted, "you've seen what my father is like. You know Clark. I would never jeopardize my friendship with him. You believe me, don't you?"
Serena appeared to understand. "I know you're innocent, Lex." The executioner wheeled a tray of lethal needles towards him.
"But ... why?" Lex demanded. Clark appeared beside him. Finally, Lex hoped. Someone who cares about me.
"Because you're a Luthor," Clark stated harshly. "Born to be evil. My dad is right. There's no hope for you now. Everything has a cost. You're going to die for your family's crimes. Be a man about it."
Clark's callousness shocked Lex, as he struggled with the fasteners on his arms.
"I'm not the most religious person," Southerlyn admitted, "but I will pray for the repose of your soul. Perhaps, someday, you'll find peace."
Then they left. Time to execute his sentence.
The needle, with its poisonous cocktail, entered his arm. Lex felt his pulse race. Faster. Faster. He was sweating. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. The poison sailed through his arteries and engulfed his heart muscles. They seized. Cardiac arrest. Flatline.
Lex, still in his orange jumpsuit, found himself in a tunnel. He moved towards the light.
He reached the end, and found himself in a dark room.
Someone lit a candle. The illumination revealed a weathered face: Lionel Luthor.
"Let me guess," Lex began. "You're some manifestation of my mortal fears and torments. A hallucination."
"Well, yes and no," Lionel answered. "I represent your past torments. But, rest assured, you are dead."
Lex laughed. "So this is Hell? Where's the guy with the pitchforks? Do I get my own suite, or am I rooming with Brutus and Judas Iscariot?"
"Your fate, Alexander Joseph Luthor," Lionel cackled, "is to spend an eternity with that which you despise most. Those parts of you that you claim to despise. Those values or sins that you adopted from your dear father." He began to walk away.
"Wait," Lex insisted. "I thought I was going to be stuck here forever with you."
"You're not so lucky, Lex," Lionel muttered. "You knew you were always damned, in spite of your pitiful attempts to 'do good'. It's what you are, what you've become. That's what you hate most. Now you can spend a thousand millennia pondering it. On your own."
Then he was in the dark. Alone.
Forever.
No, he panicked. "No!!"
He awoke. It was a dream. He was still in his cell at Rikers Island. Not hell, but close enough.
"It's okay, Lex," Martha shook him awake. "It was only a dream. You should get something to eat."
"It's time for the closing arguments," Goldstein replied. "You're not finished yet."
Within days, Lex would learn his fate. Wallace Johnson is free, he frowned, and I might answer for his crimes.
He rubbed his weary eyes. "Then why do I get the feeling I've got courtside seats to an execution?"
Goldstein, Lex's attorney, completed his questioning of the Crime Scene Unit technician, a 20-something Latino.
"So the hair follicle you discovered on the bloodied overalls belonged to this AWOL soldier, Wallace Johnson?"
"That's correct, sir," the technician replied.
Goldstein turned to the jury. "This soldier – who I should add is currently on the lam – was but one of a virtual army of 60 part-time security personnel hired by Luthor Corp., out of at least a dozen firms in the City of New York." He turned again to the technician. "So there is no physical evidence linking Lex Luthor to the crime?"
"Well, no," the technician answered, "but –"
"Thank you, that's all," Goldstein concluded dismissively as he took his seat again. The CSU technician was excused from the stand.
"Does the defendant plan to take the stand at this point?" the judge asked.
"No. The defense rests, your Honour," Goldstein stated. He managed to convince Lex not to take the stand. There were too many sordid tales in Lex's youth that Jack McCoy could unearth. Those bloodied overalls may have Johnson's DNA, he believed, but nothing linked Lex to it. Clark's testimony -- though unnerving -- was not enough to tie Lex to murder.
Lex glanced behind him at Martha, who was assigned there as Luthor Corp.'s observer. She didn't like the role she had to play as Lionel's corporate snoop. But she didn't believe Lex was guilty. If he had to be faulted, it was in not applying his infamous attention to detail to the hiring process. A Luthor would have immediately weeded out bad apples who could harm the family empire. A soldier on the run – with no loyalty to person or country – could hardly be trusted with the security of Luthor property. How did Wallace Johnson slip through the rigid employee screening?
Martha offered a comforting smile to the accused. What more could I do, she feared. Lex was at the condo during the timeframe of the murder. Apparently, there was a motive. Something about chemical shipments.
Then D.A. McCoy and Ms. Southerlyn arrived. Martha was still disturbed that the D.A. used Clark as a trial tactic: to cast doubt on Lex's claim that he had no vested interest in whatever Chelsea Saunders knew about those shipments. Clark might have known Lex was irritated at a disloyal employee, but there's no way he would lie about a murder.
Unfortunately, 'thou shalt not kill' was one commandment the Luthors could break – if the stakes were high enough.
Judge Fitzwater adjusted the spectacles on his nose. "Do the people intend to call another witness today?" he inquired.
Southerlyn looked at McCoy, who seemed to be focused on the wall behind the judge.
Jack paused. He had called all the witnesses he had wanted. The condo staff, Luthor Corp. employees, the homicide detectives and the forensics experts. Today was a good day. People could lie; science could not. That strand, that piece of hair – now confirmed by the CSU – held the irrefutable DNA link to Wallace Johnson, Luthor Corp. security guard.
Clark Kent's testimony was more of a gamble. He knew that he risked the ire of the Luthors and their political allies. Both Arthur and Serena had cautioned him about the dangers of coming down hard on Lex's best friend.
It was regrettable, but justified in his mind. Lex Luthor – with his father's bottomless legal funding – was going to buy his freedom.
Serena did the state's work admirably when she traveled to Smallville, a middle-American town with supposedly middle-American values. But it was a company town, he scoffed, and that company was Luthor Corp. A community bonded by a web of lies. The affidavits of Clark's friends all alluded to this: from Lana's account of her business dealings with Lex, to Pete's account of Lionel Luthor's abusive influence in town.
"He's bad news," Pete had proclaimed in his affidavit. Even the town mayor was in Lionel's pocket.
And Chloe Sullivan, intrepid reporter of the school paper. He had laughed when he read about the so-called Wall of Weird. He couldn't believe that she accepted some of that UFO stuff as plausible scientific theory.
"These events all have one common denominator: the green meteor rocks that showered the town over a decade ago," she had reported clinically.
Meteor rocks seemed to be around these inexplicable accidents. That was true. But she missed one thing. Jack had read the archived stories of the Smallville Ledger. Clark Kent's name showed up. Often. He was known to the local sheriff.
Did that make him a criminal, he wondered. No, it didn't, though it would be tempting to dig further into the Kent family history.
Clark Kent's repeated involvement in Smallville's intrigues did cast doubt on his credibility. Goldstein was wrong: Clark was not some country bumpkin who knew little about the urban jungle. He was a smart kid who was loyal to his friend. Despite Serena's observation that Jonathan Kent was a man of integrity, Clark chose friendship with Lex Luthor. Why would Clark place his trust in a Luthor, whose family Kent Sr. is supposed to detest?
That was why he ignored Serena's suggestion that he limit his questions to Clark's correspondence with Lex. Jack cornered him on the stand. Clark flubbed his answers, giving the impression that he knew more than he was letting on. And it wasn't just a case of nerves. He was the last person Lex talked to before Chelsea was killed.
The renegade soldier may have slashed the victim, Jack grimaced, but it was Lex who must have executed the plot and the cover-up.
"Jack?" Serena prodded. McCoy put aside his thoughts and focused on the proceedings once more.
McCoy adjusted his jacket and stood up. "The people rest, your Honour."
He felt he could trace every thread of a Luthor conspiracy to hide its shadowy secrets. Interpol had raided a cargo vessel off the coast of Greece this weekend. It was a joint operation with the FBI – and Major Case Squad Detective Alexandra Eames. They uncovered high volumes of chemicals destined for eastern Europe, but it was too early to tell if it was merely fertilizer. Time was still on their side.
Clark's testimony, while dramatic, was not the coup de grace. They had the murder weapon, the bloodied overalls and were hunting for the accomplice. The FedEx package held the motive.
It was the deathstroke -- and Lex Luthor knew it, McCoy nodded.
Chelsea Saunders would not take her secret to the grave, if the Major Case Squad had anything to say about it.
Judge Fitzwater frowned, apparently weary of the trial's complexities. "This court will resume tomorrow at 10 a.m. sharp for closing arguments."
With the pound of a gavel, the trial day was over. Martha immediately rushed towards McCoy.
"Clark knew nothing about a murder, Mr. McCoy," Martha insisted.
"This is highly improper, Mrs. Kent," McCoy replied. "You're on retainer for the defense. I'm not at liberty to discuss anything about your son."
"I just want to know if Clark is doing alright," Martha demanded.
Southerlyn interrupted. "Clark's doing fine. He's at the hotel. The last time I was there, he was at his hotel suite playing some NBA video game with Fin Tutuola. He'll be alright, Mrs. Kent."
Serena wanted to believe that Clark was as honest and virtuous as his parents believed him to be. She sensed no hidden agenda from either of the Kent parents, although they were reserved about Clark's personal life. Was he a good kid led astray by the vile Lex Luthor, as suggested by a Gotham Post editorial? Or was he an intelligent, above-average young man who was prepared to lie under oath to protect his best friend?
We've done our job, she thought. After closing arguments, the jury will decide the fate of Lex Luthor.
[Major Case Squad, One Police Plaza, NYC]
McCoy entered Captain James Deakins' office. D.A. Carver and Detective Goren were already there.
"So, how goes the battle of wills with Lex Luthor?" Carver inquired.
"The Luthors are suing everyone except the hot dog vendors, it seems." McCoy began. "How good it turns out depends on what you have," McCoy began. "It'll either be close – or a slam dunk."
Goren carried a large stack of files, then placed it on a chair beside McCoy.
"Those, Mr. McCoy, are the shipping manifests and inventories of all Luthor- owned or affiliated vessels that embarked from the Port of New York over the past twelve months," Goren revealed. "I took the liberty of annotating the files of those ships that carried chemicals, which could be used to manufacture WMDs – if combined in the proper quantities. No confirmations yet, but we're working on it."
"Is that all?" McCoy grinned, clearly impressed with Goren's investigative abilities.
"Did you know Luthor subsidiaries have warehouses throughout eastern Europe?" Goren added. "While Lex was holed up in one miserable boarding school after another, Lionel was doing his patriotic duty marketing American capitalism to partners behind the Iron Curtain."
McCoy grunted. "I bet that's not all he was marketing for Uncle Sam."
Goren pulled out another file. "The feds dropped that one off today. One vessel, the Artemis, paid a visit to Morocco, enroute to Albania. When Interpol caught it last year off the Sicilian coast, they found a shipload of Kalashnikov rifles. Lionel's partners had them made for, like, $20 each in North Africa and were shipping them to parties unknown. No questions asked."
"We've notified the U.S. Attorney," Carver stated. "As you can see, Ms. Saunders opened up a thousand dirty little secrets for us. Get that conviction, Jack, and we will do our best to bring Luthor Corp. to its knees."
Lionel would answer for his global arms merchandising, McCoy thought. But that fact wouldn't help Chelsea Saunders' family – if the jury had any doubt about Lex's guilt.
***
Governor Pataki had lifted the moratorium on the death penalty. The first man condemned to death would set an example. A warning to future offenders.
Lex Luthor found himself at Sing Sing Correctional Facility, Ossining, New York In his orange prison uniform – the paper pajamas – Lex Luthor walked through the hallway with his arms and ankles in shackles.
"Dead man walking," the prison guard declared.
Death by lethal injection was the sentence. Lex still couldn't believe it. Guilty on all counts.
In the viewing gallery were the execution's witnesses. Detectives Briscoe and Green, who had found Chelsea Saunders' bloodied body so many months ago. D.A. Arthur Branch, who would ride this conviction to another electoral victory. And his supplicants: D.A. Serena Southerlyn, and Jack McCoy. Mrs. Saunders, the young woman's mother, sat there stone-faced.
Clark Kent, his best friend, seemed to be in denial. He couldn't believe Lex was going to die.
McCoy got exactly what he wanted. Lex grimaced. He was set up. He knew it! This was the result his father had expected.
No -- wanted. He would take the fall for his father's transgressions, while his father continued to reap the rewards of his illicit business practices.
As he was being strapped down onto the gurney, the prison chaplain tried to console the condemned man.
"Do you have any last words, my son?" the chaplain asked.
"I'm innocent! I didn't kill Chelsea Saunders!" Lex pleaded.
"Some words from the holy book to prepare you for the next world," the chaplain replied. Instead of sympathy, the chaplain's face appeared to be filled with hate. 'And I looked and behold a pale horse, and his name was Death. And Hell followed with him."
Lex struggled on the gurney, but the fasteners on his arm were too tight.
"I didn't kill her!" he yelled.
Briscoe hovered beside him. "They all say that. She died because of you. You knew what your father was capable of. You did nothing. You might as well have slit her throat yourself."
"That's not true!" Lex shook violently, but he couldn't break free.
"You should have taken the deal, Lex," McCoy announced, as he paced around the gurney. "Twenty-five at Sing Sing would have kept you alive."
Lex tried to yank his arm free, but it was no use.
"You killed my daughter, you son-of-a-bitch!" Mrs. Saunders screamed into his ear. "She had everything to live for. And you let it happen!" Beside her, D.A. Southerlyn shook her head in disappointment.
"Ms. Southerlyn, you've been to Smallville," Lex blurted, "you've seen what my father is like. You know Clark. I would never jeopardize my friendship with him. You believe me, don't you?"
Serena appeared to understand. "I know you're innocent, Lex." The executioner wheeled a tray of lethal needles towards him.
"But ... why?" Lex demanded. Clark appeared beside him. Finally, Lex hoped. Someone who cares about me.
"Because you're a Luthor," Clark stated harshly. "Born to be evil. My dad is right. There's no hope for you now. Everything has a cost. You're going to die for your family's crimes. Be a man about it."
Clark's callousness shocked Lex, as he struggled with the fasteners on his arms.
"I'm not the most religious person," Southerlyn admitted, "but I will pray for the repose of your soul. Perhaps, someday, you'll find peace."
Then they left. Time to execute his sentence.
The needle, with its poisonous cocktail, entered his arm. Lex felt his pulse race. Faster. Faster. He was sweating. His eyes rolled to the back of his head. The poison sailed through his arteries and engulfed his heart muscles. They seized. Cardiac arrest. Flatline.
Lex, still in his orange jumpsuit, found himself in a tunnel. He moved towards the light.
He reached the end, and found himself in a dark room.
Someone lit a candle. The illumination revealed a weathered face: Lionel Luthor.
"Let me guess," Lex began. "You're some manifestation of my mortal fears and torments. A hallucination."
"Well, yes and no," Lionel answered. "I represent your past torments. But, rest assured, you are dead."
Lex laughed. "So this is Hell? Where's the guy with the pitchforks? Do I get my own suite, or am I rooming with Brutus and Judas Iscariot?"
"Your fate, Alexander Joseph Luthor," Lionel cackled, "is to spend an eternity with that which you despise most. Those parts of you that you claim to despise. Those values or sins that you adopted from your dear father." He began to walk away.
"Wait," Lex insisted. "I thought I was going to be stuck here forever with you."
"You're not so lucky, Lex," Lionel muttered. "You knew you were always damned, in spite of your pitiful attempts to 'do good'. It's what you are, what you've become. That's what you hate most. Now you can spend a thousand millennia pondering it. On your own."
Then he was in the dark. Alone.
Forever.
No, he panicked. "No!!"
He awoke. It was a dream. He was still in his cell at Rikers Island. Not hell, but close enough.
"It's okay, Lex," Martha shook him awake. "It was only a dream. You should get something to eat."
"It's time for the closing arguments," Goldstein replied. "You're not finished yet."
Within days, Lex would learn his fate. Wallace Johnson is free, he frowned, and I might answer for his crimes.
He rubbed his weary eyes. "Then why do I get the feeling I've got courtside seats to an execution?"